Mere Mortals
by deanine
Summary: The Lost - Genesis - When a Galactic Empire comes seeking the last Kryptonian, Clark's life changes forever. Will he survive the coming trials, and will he be able to protect his family along the way? AU Book 2 complete!
1. The Lost: Prelude

**The Lost**

**Summary:** Will Clark be able to keep his family and friends safe when his past comes looking for him? Clark may not remember his home in the stars, but someone hasn't forgotten him.

**Continuity: **Begins in the first half of the first season, and diverges from cannon continuity.

**Prelude**

An amphitheater, crisp and white with soft blue lighting, was filled with a thousand varieties of aliens. At its center, a dim red light glowed. The aliens reclining in the shadows conversed freely. The gargles and hisses of different languages reverberated around the monolithic building. Many of the aliens were variations on the humanoid theme; others were radically different, from giant slug-like creatures to tiny twittering birds.

The central red light began to fluctuate, to strobe and intensify. "There will be order. The Dodecannual Galactic Council shall be convened," a clipped feminine voice announced. The conversations in the gallery trailed away and died. All attention turned to the light. "We will begin with old business. The proposition for a new Galactic trade route..."

"Motion to postpone old business," one of the more humanoid aliens called. He stood and his body feathers, wild yellow and red, fluttered. Many of the other aliens grunted their agreement.

The light flashed brighter for a moment. "Motion acknowledged, granted. Is there any new business?" It seemed as if all the aliens began to shout at once. The red light flashed and focused a beam on one of the more bizarre aliens, a small insect-like creature with a shiny black exoskeleton and a dozen tentacles and feelers. "The floor recognizes Tauten, representative of the Glaufien Nebula." The others aliens fell silent gradually.

"On behalf of the Glaufien Nebula, I would like to petition for the newly available permanent over council seat," Tauten said. His tentacles coiled and writhed while he spoke. An uproar rose from the rest of the aliens.

The light flashed rapidly allowing other aliens their chance to petition. Each delegate asked for only one thing, consideration for ascension to the over council.

Far above the room of babbling aliens, a single woman observed the chaos below. Tall and delicate the woman had white loosely curled hair tumbling past her hips. Pale skin tinted the lightest of blues gave the impression of frost. She was too gaunt and angular to be considered beautiful by human standards. A collection of screens behind her held the faces of eight other aliens. "They won't stop until a new member is ordained. The Kryptonians chose an inopportune time to self-destruct. There is no obvious choice for ascension."

"We need time," one of the aliens announced.

"Even a small amount of time would be invaluable," another said.

"If we were to choose now, a war would surely erupt," the blue woman said. "We need to stall. For peace alone we need this to not happen, not now."

"There is no way to stop it. The seat is empty," one of the faces said.

The blue woman shrugged. "Bureaucracy will save us. We will form a committee to evaluate the candidates."

"That strategy won't last half a session," one of the faces sneered.

"If you'd let me finish, I would clarify. We can't fill the Kryptonians vacant seat, until it is certain that no Kryptonians remain in the Galaxy. That search could take quite long enough. It could take an eternity," the blue woman said.

Murmurs of ascent came from the anonymous faces behind the woman. "One of the voices spoke out hesitantly. "But who can we trust to search?"

"Leave that to me," the woman said.

* * *

A building fronted by massive columns and surrounded by a high fence stood in the path of one small delicate blue woman. A soldier, tall and broad, covered in hair, but eminently civilized approached the woman. His white and gold uniform was starched perfect. "Identify yourself and your business here?"

"Dessa, representative of the Over-council and my business is my own." The soldier nodded and silently requested the blue woman's hand. He used a laser scanner to verify her identity and stepped back. The massive gate slid silently back and Dessa moved forward into the strictly guarded building. The inside was silent and dead, a museum of sorts. Along every wall retired weapons rested. Some were large and imposing, others were tiny almost invisible, but all were deadly. A peaceful Galaxy had no need for weapons.

Finally, Dessa came to a stop in front of a glass case. Inside it a woman rested. She was tall and dark haired like a Kryptonian. High cheekbones and fair rich skin further marked her as a Kryptonian creation. With a simple wave from Dessa, the glass slid back from the raven-haired woman. "Awaken, Warrior, Destroyer, Eradicator," Dessa said.

The creature in the case's eyes snapped open revealing perfect crystal blue orbs, but she did not move. "You may not command me. You are not Kryptonian."

Dessa nodded and took a careful step back. "You must protect Krypton's civilization at all costs, yes?" The woman made no sign that she heard, Dessa. "Krypton was destroyed. The possibility exists that no Kryptonians remain alive. You will find any and all survivors and return them to this world to take their place on the Over-Council."

The dark haired woman finally moved, but she showed no emotion. "This mission is acceptable."

* * *

Dessa pushed her long white tresses behind her ears and stood in front of the faces of the other members of the Over-Council. They seemed disgruntled if their expressions were any indication.

"Why would you release the Eradicator? That mechanism is dangerous. Why do you think half the galaxy was madly afraid of the Kryptonians," one of the aliens barked.

"Reckless."

"Foolish."

"Ignorant child."

Dessa endured the angry exclamations in silence. "The Eradicator only kills for Krypton or at the order of a Kryptonian. As we all know, there are no more Kryptonians. That weapon will search though, with a single-minded intensity until every rock in the galaxy has been turned and every crevice explored."

"The action is done. Perhaps it was not folly," one of the faces said. "In the future, consult the entire council before such decisions are made."


	2. Chapter 1 A Farmers Plight

**- Chapter 1 - A Farmer's Plight -**

Chloe leaned back in her fake-leather car seat and stared out the passenger window at the passing scenery, cornfields and cows that was Smallville for you. Chloe might have shared her sarcastic conclusion with her Dad, but he wasn't in much of a chatting mood. It didn't bother her. She could totally relate. If she had to put up with all the stress he did at work lately, she'd probably be in a touchy mood too. With rumors about layoffs and constant union meetings, he just seemed so tired. Chloe smiled over at her dad and turned back to watch her lovely view of corn.

Chloe felt a funny fluttering in her chest, and she blinked against the late afternoon sun. There was a very important scenery enhancer she'd forgotten about, farm boys. The blue-jean clad Greek god sitting atop one of the fence posts they were rapidly approaching was ample reminder. Thick slightly curly black hair and classical sharp features were perfectly presented atop a broad muscular chest and long lean legs. Clark Kent had no right to look so appealing. He belonged in a magazine spread, not on a farm pitching hay. Would he look her way? Chloe waited for it, but their car zipped past without him even turning.

Of course he didn't look. If Lana Lang had driven by he'd have noticed. The boy had Lana radar, but Chloe practically needed a siren to get his attention sometimes. It wasn't that he was dense either. He was just oblivious, and she was caught up in the friendship curse.

Clark might have missed noticing Chloe, but she would have been happy to know that he hadn't been thinking about the lovely Lana Lang either. His thoughts were with the farm, the fall crop. The corn tassels were emerging, waving in a warm afternoon breeze. It was going to be a good one. They had avoided rot through the wet season, insects in the spring, and finally they seemed to have dodged the early burn August heat could inflict. It was just too bad that the market was saturated.

The Kent farm had remained a mom and pop operation while most of the rest of the farming world had become mechanized multimillion-dollar corporations. If it hadn't been for Clark and his ability to help make things work out, the farm might not have lasted as long as it had. Clark dropped off his perch and began moving carefully through the thick rows of corn. It was like stepping off into a leafy green sea. Neither a good season nor super powers seemed to be able to stop the winds of change from blowing at their door. The Kent farm was sinking into a dismal pit of debt. The cows they'd lost in the freak poisoning a few weeks earlier hadn't helped matters, and now the corn prices were at an all time low.

Unless something miraculous happened, there was no way his parents were going to be able to make the annual mortgage without selling land. That meant less land for the next year, which meant even less profit. It was a cycle that once surrendered to, could destroy a farm within a very few growing seasons.

Clark pushed his way gently through the brickle corn stalks, not willing to damage a single one when things were so desperate. If they lost the farm it would kill his dad. This farm was his life, but Clark couldn't think of any way to help. He could ask Lex, and Lex would almost certainly ride to the rescue, checkbook in hand. But Jonathan Kent did not take handouts, especially not from Luthors. It would be better not to even start that argument again with his dad. There was nothing to do but wait and hope for the best.

* * *

The smell of dirt, rich and wet, full of life, filled the air. Martha Kent dug her fingers down into the soil and raked it around a new seedling in her backdoor herb patch. Her straight shiny red hair was pulled back ponytail-style through a baseball cap while an old ratty pair of jeans collected new stains. She worked quietly, with only the sound of her own breathing and the occasional vocal cricket to break the silence. Evening was fast coming on and she should stop the gardening and go inside. Dinner wasn't even on the table.

A single tear rolled down her face, mingling with one of the rivers of sweat, and dropped off her chin into the dirt. "I don't want to lose this," Martha said. She dropped her trowel and came to her feet. This place wasn't just an herb garden or a house or even the Kent Family Farm. It was the porch where Clark first called her Mom, and the barn loft where Jonathan first kissed her. This place was full of their memories. This place was their home. It just wasn't fair that they could do everything right, work every day, and still not be able to make ends meet.

They had tried to keep the situation from Clark at first. He was a kid, and he shouldn't have to worry about mortgages or losing his home, but they had to discuss their options and he deserved a say. Martha gathered up her tools and abandoned the spotless little herb garden. She made her way up the stairs and stripped away the layers of dirt-encrusted clothes. The swift hot water from her shower pounded and massaged the dirt away. Martha felt clearer, less mournful, with the water steaming into her face. Whatever happened, at least they had each other. They were a family, and they would survive.

* * *

Johnathan Kent shifted his old truck into fifth gear and griped the faded, cracked steering wheel. His truck was beginning to show its age like everything they owned. Their rust red Allis Chalmers tractor was officially an antique and the house paint was beginning to peel. Jonathan couldn't remember the last time Martha had actually bought a new dress, and Clark was probably sporting the most limited wardrobe in the history of teenagers. They didn't ask for more. They shouldn't have to. He'd let them down. His family was depending on him to provide for them and protect them. Martha deserved better and so did Clark.

The rutted dirt road was more than a match for the ancient shocks on the old Chevy, and Jonathan was bouncing up and down in his seat, occasionally bumping his head against the cab. With a twist to the radio's volume knob, Waylon Jennings strong country twang filled the vehicle. Jonathan visibly relaxed and slowed down a bit. His father was probably rolling over in his grave. The Kent Farm had been in the family for seven generations, and Jonathan Kent was going to be the man that lost it.

The truck slowed and veered off onto the shoulder. Jonathan threw his door open and headed out into a scrub-covered field. An old pond covered in a layer of green scum, his fishing hole, lay stagnant and still under the fading August sun. "What else could I do? I grew a crop anybody could be proud of. You would have been proud of this crop, Dad. It won't be enough though. The red ink wins however I add."

Johnathan ran his hands through his sandy blond hair and turned his sun-weathered face up, but no answers came down from the heavens. It was time to decide, sell it in pieces over a couple of years as the bills slowly overran them, or sell the farm intact. "I hate this."

* * *

A compact spacecraft, black, sleek, and teardrop shaped, entered the Earth's atmosphere. The complicated satellites monitoring the heavens didn't detect anything amiss. The ship landed in an opportune place, amidst Dave Martin's tree farm, far from any road or civilization.

A seam split around the circumference of the ship and it opened smoothly. The Eradicator's first glimpse of Earth was the red light of twilight filtered through a canopy of leaves. Dressed in a tight black synthetic material, she stepped out onto a soft green carpet of moss. With two efficient motions, she took hold of her long black curls and twisted them into a knot at the base of her neck. The Eradicator reached into a small leather pouch clipped to her hip and removed a clear azure crystal. It flashed brightly in her palm, and she moved away from her landing site with purpose.


	3. Chapter 2 Everyone is Searching

**- Chapter 2 - Everyone Is Searching -**

Mrs. Pringles, proper and prim with her sensible pumps and her neat bun of graying hair turned from a full black board of notes and smiled at the class of bored adolescents slouching in their seats. She didn't hold their disinterest against them. It was a sociology class, and they were still children. The ones who snored got on her nerves occasionally, but only because they could be a hassle to speak over. "Are you ready for a new assignment?" She hardly paused for the children to ignore her. "It's that time of year, time for the annual sociology project. I won't be making you create a family tree or teach a chapter out of your textbooks. This year I see a paper in your future. Pick up your topic on the way out."

Clark was trying to stay focused on school and the task at hand, but his teacher's lectures seemed to lull his mind into a vegetative state in which he could only worry about his parents and his home. It took a poke from Pete to bring him out of his own world at the end of sociology.

"Clark, if you don't wake up and start actually listening to some of these lectures, you're going to miss that lovely GPA of yours," Pete said. "Oh, and here's your paper topic."

"Paper?" Clark said. He took the stapled packet from Pete and followed him into the crowded hall.

Pete rolled his eyes and shook his head disapprovingly. "This is getting sad, Clark. What's going on with you anyway? It isn't like you to play slacker, though the whole distracted bit isn't that unusual. So spill it, what's on your brain?"

Clark shrugged and tried to ignore the question. Talking to Pete about his family's crisis wasn't completely unappealing, but a jam-packed high school corridor wasn't the place. Thankfully, Chloe came sauntering up brandishing her digital camera and offered an easy topic change. "I have a lead on a story. You guys heard of the Martin's tree farm? Their three guard dogs came up dead, necks broken."

Clark craned his neck to look at the picture displayed on Chloe's camera. Three rottweilers, necks cocked at an impossible angle lay in a neat row. "Weird, but not exactly Wall-of-Weird weird," Clark said.

"Every story I cover isn't going to make the wall of weird," Chloe said. "Besides the Martin's have two kids in this school, making the story fair game for the Torch."

Pete managed to get a glimpse of the mangled dogs, and his nose drew up in disgust. "Maybe it isn't weird enough, but that is gross."

"So, are you guys game to come interview the distraught owners of the victims this afternoon?" Chloe asked. She made it a point to not stare at Clark expectantly.

Pete held his hands up and started backing away. "Hey, I've got practice. You guys have fun though."

Clark winced and shook his head. "Chloe, you know I'd be there, but I have a family thing this afternoon. Can't bail on it. I'm really sorry. I could do it tomorrow?"

Chloe shrugged and stashed her camera. "Don't worry about it. I can handle it." It wasn't like she needed him, not to do her job anyway. Chloe plastered her million-dollar smile on for Clark's benefit and let the flow of kids lead her down the hall toward her last class.

Clark watched Chloe disappear and tried not to feel quite so guilty about sending her off alone. His last class, algebra, was only three steps down the hall, but Clark couldn't bring himself to head that way. Math came easy for him, and he didn't have the heart to sit through another lecture. He needed to talk to someone. Clark hoisted his books up on his shoulder and headed for the exit.

* * *

Like a predator stalking prey, the Eradicator moved with singular intensity covering ground with efficient silence. She had moved steadily throughout the night and through the day. There was nothing but the mission, the salvation of Krypton. The small glowing blue crystal on her palm pulled her toward her goal, toward the life-pod that she sought.

More than a decade searching and there wasn't any real urgency in this creature. She was an AI programmed to protect Krypton, programmed to follow directives. Urgency required a depth of self-awareness that the Eradicator as yet failed to possess. If this line of inquiry failed to produce a living breathing Kryptonian, she would begin again without frustration, without disappointment. At least that was how it was supposed to go.

The Eradicator was self-aware to the extent that she monitored her sub-routines. She had the ability to process unique information and adapt to new situations. It was only natural that over several millennia of existence some of the protocols failed and despite routine self-tests and self-maintenance corruption occurred. The Eradicator didn't recognize the delicate buzz of anticipation dancing across her neural paths. She didn't detect the beginnings of a fatal corruption, independent thought.

When the locator in her hand began to pull downward, the Eradicator froze and scanned her surroundings. Perhaps it was an underground dwelling? With a careless jerk the Eradicator removed the wooden covering barring her path. The life-pod, it was here. The Eradicator moved into the musty darkness, her vision unaffected. Where was the Kryptonian, though? Apparently, he had left his craft behind.

Perhaps he had blended into the primitive society infesting this world? Perhaps he was already dead? A new course of action already formulated, the Eradicator left the glowing blue crystal atop the life-pod, a message, in case her Kryptonian should return.

* * *

Lex Luthor tried not to zone out while two accountants in Sears-shopper suits took turns reviewing fiscal figures he'd already been through for himself a half-dozen times. There were only so many ways to crunch numbers, and these two bureaucrats weren't terribly imaginative about it. "Well gentlemen," Lex said. He cut one of the men off mid-sentence. "I think we've learned all we're going to for today."

Like a wild animal released from its cage, Lex made a beeline for his garage. A nice long drive in the Porsche would clear away the cobwebs. Lex ran a hand carelessly over the silver chrome finish and dropped into the perfectly formed leather seat. Once he was out on the road with the wind sliding over his face, everything in the world seemed to fade back. The road had a magic power to short-circuit the part of Lex's brain that worried. Lionel, the factory, nothing penetrated the adrenaline that followed speed. Truthfully, he didn't go quite as fast as he used to. Accidentally driving off a bridge doing sixty could have that effect on you.

The sleek sports car purred and Lex shifted her into fifth gear. Faster. Then he was out of control. It was almost like a flash back to that other accident, one second he was driving along a run down county road, the next his car was in a skid. "Damn, gravel," Lex hissed. Some people say that time slows down during an accident, Lex would disagree. One moment he was cruising and in control the next he was stationary in a patch of grass.

Lex pushed his designer sunglasses back up on his nose and tried to restart the stalled car. The engine, which had only moments before had been purring like a wild cat, barely sputtered. "Damnation." He couldn't even call for help. Leaving the cell phone behind to avoid interruptions had seemed like a good idea at the time. Lex stepped out of the car and consciously refrained from cursing. It was going to be a long walk.

* * *

Clark wasn't sure why he'd walked out to his Dad's fishing hole. It wasn't like he was going to find anyone to talk to in a deserted field. He could have gone to see Lex or asked Pete to cut classes with him, but he wandered out here instead. Maybe, subconsciously, he was trying to recapture the security of his childhood, when everything was certain, and the whole world revolved around snaring a bottom-feeding, whiskered fish. Clark took a smooth stone and weighted it in his hand. Casually, he set it skipping across the pond.

"If it isn't Clark Kent. Shouldn't you be in school young man?"

Clark turned and smiled. There was no mistaking the young man trudging up the road toward him. It wasn't just the bald head either. Lex had presence and charisma. It leaked out of him in his smile and the way he held himself. He was the best friend Clark had ever had. Maybe it was because he was different, always one step removed from the people around him. Maybe Clark felt a kinship with that distance. "Just cutting Algebra, nothing too serious," Clark said. "What are you doing way out here, on foot no less?"

Lex smirked and headed out into the field. "Wrecked another car. Not quite as serious as last time, thankfully."

"Are you okay?" Clark scanned his friend quickly for broken bones and other injuries. With his vision, the scan was better than any emergency room in the county would have mustered.

"Oh I'm fine. The Porsche wasn't quite so lucky." Lex seemed a bit reluctant to just drop down and join Clark on the messy grass. His designer slacks were still perfectly pressed and spotless. "If you're taking the rest of the day off from studies, why not walk into town with me? I'll buy you a cappuccino."

Clark came to his feet and shrugged. "I'll walk in with you, but I can't stay long. Dad's going to need me this afternoon. We do have a crop coming in."

Lex nodded and led the way back onto the rutted gravel road. "How is the farm coming?" It had been hard for Lex, staying out of the Kents' financial crisis. As hyperaware of the fiscal world as he was, it wasn't likely that Lex would miss a sudden drop in a commodity like corn, or fail to interpret what that would mean for a farmer betting on that staple.

Nothing would have given Lex more pleasure than helping Clark and his family. It wasn't just the debt he owed for Clark saving his life either. It would mean helping a friend, and there weren't many people in the world that Lex allowed close enough to be real friends. Not to say he trusted Clark absolutely. There was still a niggling doubt in the back of his mind that anyone so naive or perfect existed, and if they did, why the Hell would that person befriend a wolf like him?

"The farm is...going," Clark said. "The corn looks great. I don't think we've ever had this nice a crop, at least that I can remember."

"I detect a _but _in that statement," Lex said. "What's wrong?"

"Things are just a little tight right now. It's going to be a close one this year," Clark said.

"Close, eh? Has your dad given any more thought to taking on a partner? I'm still game," Lex said.

Clark started shaking his head before Lex even finished his offer. "On that one point, Dad hasn't wavered. He doesn't trust you Lex and he'd rather lose it all than make a deal with you. I'm sorry. I know you're just trying to help." Constantly having to turn away Lex's gestures of friendship was disconcerting for Clark. Academically, he could understand his dad's perspective, but he didn't agree. Trust a person who had never shown himself to be anything but a friend, or lose your home? Clark failed to see the choice.

"I hope he changes his mind, for your family's sake," Lex said.


	4. Chapter 3 Tag You Are It

**-- Chapter 3 -- Tag You're It –**

Beneath the still youngish trees at the outskirts of The Martin's Tree Farm, Chloe Sullivan picked her way around the doggie murder scene. The bodies were long gone, and she only knew this was the scene of the attack because Mr. Martin had shown her. Chloe sighed and clicked another frame of unhealthy brown grass into her camera's memory. This story wasn't exactly her idea of a front page special, but this week it was going to have to do. "_Dog Massacre Under the Pines_, sounds like a tabloid article, or maybe a bad mystery novel," Chloe muttered to herself.

An unpleasant trickle of sweat made its way down the center of her back and Chloe clicked her camera shut. Enough was enough. It was time to go home and put together a story out of the vague bits of information she'd been able to patch together. Some people would probably laugh at Chloe, out here wasting her afternoon on a dead-end story. Most people didn't understand what being a journalist meant. Journalism wasn't a possible career. It was an identity, a lifestyle. Each little story, every byline, was a stepping-stone to that future. It was the only life Chloe could imagine for herself.

After a moment's indecision about direction, Chloe pushed her way back toward the road. Mentally, she began assembling a to-do list: one sociology paper needs to get started, an article for the Torch for tomorrow's editorial meeting... Chloe slowed and then stopped. She should be able to see the road. Mr. Martin had warned her not to stray far, that it was easy to get turned around in the uniformly managed tree farm. Slowly she spun and tried to get her bearings. The only sound in the man-designed forest was that of the wind. No clues jumped out at her to point the way to the road and her car. "I am not lost."

Clark, her AWOL buddy, immediately came to mind. He would know which way to go. He grew up in the sticks. You learned things like how not to get lost in the woods if you grew up in them. "Where's a farm boy when you need him?" Chloe said. "I can handle this. I will not turn into the front page by being this stupid."

* * *

Muted lighting and furnishings so retro they were cool again, the Talon was crammed with young people, well as close to crammed as Smallville ever got. Just another one of those kids, Clark, leaned back in a plush red chair and tried to relax for five minutes. He should be on the road heading home. Dad had said they were going to talk, to make some decisions.

"Earth to Clark," Lana said. She idly pushed a strand of silky black hair behind her ear and smiled. "That cappuccino is growing ice-sickles. You keep staring at it, but I have yet to notice any drinking."

Clark froze for a moment like a deer caught in headlights. Lana always had that effect on him. He was recovering quicker lately though, and not just because she'd stopped wearing her meteor rock necklace either. "No offense to the beverage." Clark smiled and shrugged. "Guess I was just a little distracted. Ought to be at home anyway, harvest is coming in."

"All work and no caffeine makes Clark a dull boy," Lana said. She took the lukewarm cup of java and grinned. "I'll put this in some Styrofoam, since you need to get home." Behind her warm friendly smile, Lana felt exposed and confused. Clark was a friend. He was always there and ready to help. The way he looked at her sometimes though, it made her wonder if they really were friends. Maybe he wanted more? With a determine smile, Lana quashed that line of reasoning. Even if Clark Kent was in the throws of an infatuation, it wasn't love. It just couldn't be. Things were plenty complicated enough with Whitney in love with her.

Barely half a dozen steps away, behind a quasi-private partition, Lex held a phone to his ear. "I need the limo, now, at the Talon. Forget about the Porsche, a tow is already on the way." He dropped the Talon's courtesy phone into its cradle and sauntered up to the counter. Lex took the barstool across from where Lana was working. A somewhat frustrated smile spread over his face, and he glanced surreptitiously between Clark and Lana. Matchmaking with these two had proven a real challenge. "Let me guess, Clark's bailing on me?"

Lana looked up from her newly packaged cold cappuccino and shook her head. "It's probably hard to comprehend for a city boy like you, the whole harvest season thing, but this is an important time for the farmers around here."

Lex shrugged. "Oh I understand more than you know. Clark is plenty tense, with good reason from what I can tell. Must be hard to have to cross your fingers and wait when your home is on the line."

Lana frowned at Lex and tried not to show her surprise. The Kents had their debts and their problems. Everybody did. It wasn't like Lex to gossip about it though. Was he trying to tell her something? Were things more serious this year? "I better get this to Clark before I run him late," Lana said.

Lex spun slowly to watch Lana and Clark from a distance. Maybe they'd talk, bond, something. Lex rubbed a hand over his head and lounged back against the bar. Matchmaking with those two kids might be a challenge, but it was still worth working at. Perhaps the Kent family crisis would get Ms. Lang's attention. At the very least, she could probably help talk a little sense into Jonathan Kent.

* * *

A flash of color and a blast of sound marked the passage of the Eradicator, a woman shaped projectile soaring through the air. A distance, which had taken nearly a full day to travel when following the delicate tug of her locator crystal, vanished in a matter of seconds on the return trip. A hundred thousand statistics flashed behind her eyes.

-Probability of finding a live Kryptonian on this world - 97.3%  
-Probability that the Kryptonian successfully integrated the primitive society - 93.1%  
-Probability of returning with a Kryptonian at the impending Dodecanual Galactic Council - 73.4%

They were the best statistics of her mission. This world held the last Kryptonian. Her master was here, waiting for her. The statistics faded back against a certainty that had little to do with logic. The Eradicator knew her Kryptonian was here. She could feel it.

Once on the ground near her craft, the Eradicator paused to listen and wait. It was a simple technique, but very effective. If you were still and silent, all other sound was crisp and easy to detect. A hundred different creatures were moving, making noise. One was too loud, like a stampeding Falta Beast. Only a civilized creature would be so careless. The Eradicator turned her head slightly and focused her eyes through the trees until she spotted the noisy creature.

Different courses of action, possibilities, flashed inside the Eradicator. After an eternity, 2.36 seconds, she elected to use this creature, to learn what she could from it. Faster than the wind, the Eradicator ran toward her discovery. It was a bit of a shock seeing the creature up close. It looked too Kryptonian. "Greetings, alien being. I come without malice." The Eradicator spoke in galactic standard, a language all beings should know if they wished to communicate with the universe. She removed a small glowing blue crystal from her pouch. "This is Kryptonium, a very safe-stable element which I will use to learn from you. It will not cause any permanent damage or discomfort. If you remain calm and don't struggle, the experience should be bearable."

Hot and sweaty and completely lost, Chloe stopped kicking her way through the underbrush and froze. A singsong noise, like someone speaking French, only not, caught her off guard, and Chloe spun around. The woman standing there took her breath away. She had never seen a woman quite so striking. She was tall and fair skinned, with midnight black hair. A natural rosiness clung to her cheeks and lips. While strong, her bone structure was also delicate like a cat's. She looked almost familiar, blue eyes, black hair... "Do you speak English? Can you show me the road?" Chloe asked. She was beyond relief to have come across another human being.

The Eradicator ceased speaking. This creature did not understand. Best to simply move quickly then.

Chloe barely registered a blur before the woman was upon her, blue crystal pressed to her forehead. The last thought she had before the pain began was about the Torch. Now this was a front-page story.

There are no words to describe the agony Chloe felt when the Eradicator elbowed roughly through her mind. Physically it was like white-hot needles shooting through her skull, but emotionally it was a million times worse. She was being forced to relive her life, every moment with an interloper watching, copying, retaining. Private thoughts: fights with her parents, pettiness that she would never act out, sins of thought that should have belonged to Chloe alone, were ripped out, fingered though and discarded. It was an exquisitely degrading violation. When finally released, Chloe collapsed to the Earth. She couldn't find words to beg for mercy, or the presence of self to rise from the ground. A terrible rhythmic keening poured from her throat, and Chloe curled into a tight ball.

The Eradicator gazed emotionlessly at the being, Chloe. "You will recover. There was no permanent damage done." This time the Eradicator spoke in clear crisp English. "Thank you for your assistance, Ms. Sullivan."

The Eradicator began running probabilities in her head against the new information she'd gleaned and a smile crept slowly, unconsciously over her face. She didn't require any more information. Powerful, elite, intelligent, logical, reserved - different... She knew the identity of her Kryptonian with a 99.8% probability.

Alexander "Lex" Luthor.


	5. Chapter 4 Help I think Im Falling

**-- Chapter 4 -- Help I Think I'm Falling --**

The baritone rumble of the Kent's rust red tractor filled the air as the vehicle bounced along the south pasture. The fall colors were beginning to touch the trees with reds and yellows and the corn had the beginnings of drying around the bottom leaves. It even smelled like fall. Martha's butterfly bush could, by some miracle, penetrate the cloud of pungent diesel fumes surrounding the tractor. Jonathan expertly twisted the wheel on the ancient machine and headed for home.

There was something in the road, debris. Jonathan squinted and threw a hand over his eyes. He cranked the park break and swung down to inspect whatever had found its way into his access road. It took several seconds for the significance of what he was seeing to penetrate, a wooden door, his door... the storm cellar. Why would the door to the storm cellar be in the road a hundred meters away from where it belonged? Who moved it and why? More importantly, did they see the spaceship?

Maybe it was the wind. The wind somehow got behind the door and carried it away. A freak wind... Jonathan shook his head slowly. Wind didn't get behind "storm" cellar doors though. He grabbed the out of place door and tossed it onto the tractor's plow. There had to be a logical explanation...

A thousand fears, possibilities far worse than losing the farm started running through Jonathan's head. If the world found about Clark, if anyone found out, their family would most likely shatter. He hated the thought of his son trapped, branded a freak. Even if Clark didn't end up in a cage, being studied, he'd never be free to live. Jonathan climbed onto his tractor and shifted it into high gear. He wouldn't allow himself to panic, not yet anyway.

* * *

Lex slouched restlessly in his limo and gazed out the window. There were a million things he should have been thinking about: how to improve production at the fertilizer plant, what his father's next move would be, ways to aggravate the old man. Instead, he was focused on a small failing farm. Lex Luthor fixed things he didn't like. It was maddening, having to twiddle his thumbs while his friend suffered. There had to be a way he could help, a way around Jonathan Kent's distrust. Unfortunately, nothing had come to mind as yet.

The limo came to a stop and Lex waited for the door to open. Home sweet home, well home anyway. Up the stairs and through to his office, Lex didn't pause to notice the beauty he passed, the immaculate gardens entering their fall bloom or the magnificence of his home. Exquisite beauty becomes less important when it's part of your everyday life. Lex was halfway across the room to his desk before he realized that he wasn't alone. "How did you get in here?" He couldn't see the intruder clearly. They were almost completely hidden behind his thick draperies. "I will call security."

"I came in through the window," a flat feminine voice said.

"That would be pretty impressive considering this is the fourth floor," Lex began. He might have continued, but the intruder chose that moment to reveal herself. Goddess was the first word that came to mind. Long legged and slender, she was covered from neck to ankle in a skin-tight black number. It shimmered just slightly with her movements. Long black hair tumbled freely into loose curls down her back and over her shoulders. Lex felt a familiar animal-burning inside him and he smirked. "I don't believe we've met. I'd remember."

"You are correct. We are strangers. I have come to take you away from all this, to remind you of who you are and where you belong," the Eradicator said.

"You've come to take me away from all this?" Lex's smirk expanded into a full grin. Now it was coming clear. Lionel wasn't satisfied with an adamant no, he still thought he could entice Lex back to Metropolis. "It isn't like I'm in dire straights. Tell Lionel thanks, it's not even my birthday."

"Dire? You do not understand how dire things have become." The Eradicator took an involuntary step forward. "You are the last. Without you I have nothing, no purpose, no reason to be. You have to come with me to take your place in the universe."

Lex waned from amused to disturbed over the short amount of time it took the "Goddess" to utter her last statement. Another stalker? This one seemed decidedly more insane than the last. "Right, whatever you say. Let me just make a call and we'll get this cleared up."

"You don't believe me." The Eradicator came forward past the desk and dropped to her knees in front of Lex. "Can't you see that I know what you are? I know where you come from, and what you can do. I know why you're here and why you were sent alone. There is so much for you to learn now."

Lex felt a sincere pity for the beauty begging at his feet, such an enticing package to be rotten on the inside. "Do you have a name? I can call someone for you." Maybe he'd call the asylum she'd escaped from.

"My name is Eradicator, Annihilator, destroyer of worlds. Anything you command... the universe. Just ask, just come." The Eradicator rose, a tingle of frustration boiling in her. He should not be so hard to convince. Surely he knew he was from the stars. Hadn't he wondered if this day would come? Hadn't he wondered if anyone would follow? "I'll show you then." She pulled a tiny piece of blue crystal from her hip pouch. "This is Kryptonium, a special piece. Only you can read it, because you are the last." She grabbed Lex's hand and covered it in both of hers, forcing the crystal into his palm.

Nothing happened. How?

Lex couldn't help wondering if this was another Meteor-Rock-Mutant. They tended to be insane or at the very least irrational. Calling herself Eradicator didn't indicate a peaceful nature either. Then she grabbed his hand, mashing the little rock of hers into his palm. He tried to pull away. It was cutting him and he couldn't seem to escape this woman's grip. "Damn it, that hurts. Let it go." Lex pulled back hard, leaning away, but he couldn't escape.

The Eradicator released her grip and sank back to the ground. She stared down at the blood-covered piece of crystal in her hand. "You aren't him. I was so certain, but you aren't. I suspect my logic is flawed and growing more so all the time. A tune-up would be nice, but there isn't anyone to do that for me."

Lex stared at the psychopath crouching on his oriental rug. Bleeding steadily, he cradled his hand and tried not to drip. "You psychotic bitch."

"My apologies," the Eradicator said. "I damaged you unnecessarily." Without waiting for Lex to respond, she rose and headed for the window.

Lex watched as his attacker literally flew away. He could add another Meteor-Rock-Mutant attack to his resume, not exactly surprising. He uncurled his hand and inspected the wound, a five-stitch-cut unless he missed his guess. Lex headed calmly out into the hallway. "And they say Metropolis is dangerous."

* * *

A bushel of purple-hulled peas at her feet and a big green bowl in her lap, Martha shelled without looking at her hands. Some people hired pea-shellers but not her. This work was a relief, a pleasure, mindless and relaxing.

"Martha!"

Jogged out of her pea-shelling-zone by the half-panicked cry of her husband, Martha turned and rose leaving her bowl behind. "Jonathan? What is it?" He was standing in front of the storm cellar, staring down.

"Did you see how this happened? Has anyone been here today?" Jonathan asked. He raked a hand back through his hair distractedly. His gazed shifted from her, back down as though he couldn't look away from whatever had him spooked.

Martha moved forward at a half-run. She couldn't see what Jonathan was going on about, but if it had to do with the storm cellar... "What is it? I've been at market, dropping off some produce all afternoon. I just started shelling some peas for dinner. Nobody's been here that I've seen." Martha froze as soon as she came within view of the gaping hole that used to be the doorway to the storm cellar, the doorway to all their secrets.

"Jon, what did this?" Martha said. It didn't matter that he'd just asked her the same question. She didn't really expect an answer. "What are we going to do?"

Jonathan shook his head and started down into the cellar. "I'm going to see if anything was disturbed." Every step into the cellar, Jonathan looked for a sign that someone had come this way before. Nothing was wrong though. It was all just the way they'd left it, almost. A glint of blue caught Jonathan's eye and he reached for the out of place item. "I found something, Martha."

* * *

Through the fields of harvest-ready corn stalks, a streak of plaid and blue jeans parted the corn it's wake. Clark reveled in these moments, moments when he just let himself go, no restraint, no worrying about looking inhuman. Sometimes, when he was running as fast as he could go, Clark thought he might take flight... if he just tried. All too soon he was free of the corn, loosed from its camouflage and standing exposed in his front yard. It was time to face the music, time to discuss options like selling the farm or fighting for it.

Clark pushed the squeaky kitchen screen door open and smiled. No amount of oil had been able to silence that note. Clark turned to greet his parents, but the words froze in his throat. His mom and dad were there, just as he'd expected, looking serious over twin cups of coffee while the late afternoon sun highlighted every moat of dust in it's crisp yellow glow. None of it mattered. As though the world had narrowed to a tiny tunnel, Clark could only stare at the blue crystal sitting on the table between his parents.

The tiny fragment flared to life in Clark's presence, like the meteor rocks had always done. Clark winced, half-expecting a wave of weakness to hit him. Instead, an embrace of warmth like standing in the midday sun rolled through him. "What is that?" His voice sounded strange in his own ears, like he was talking from a long distance away.

"Clark," Martha said. She turned and smiled at her son, the hundred thousand worries swimming in her mind clouding that normally joyful expression. "It's about time you made it home. We've had some excitement."

"Someone broke into the storm cellar, and they left this present for us," Jonathan said. He seemed to notice how the crystal had started to radiate, just like a meteor rock. He turned to Clark. "Are you okay son?"

Clark took two steps forward until he was standing just over the crystal. An overwhelming urge to reach out and cover the little glowing rock with his fist, filled him and Clark lifted his hand with dream-like slowness.

"Earth to Clark," Martha said. She rose and snapped her fingers. Clark hadn't ignored her since he was seven and she told him he couldn't play little league. "Something's wrong Jonathan."

Jonathan nodded and covered the glowing rock his son was a moment from seizing. "Clark? You hear me Clark? It's this damn rock. Find something thick to cover it in, Martha. Get Grandpa's lead box," Jonathan said. He would have thrown it, that was his first instinct, but Clark was too fast. He'd get it if he really wanted it. Martha would just have to hurry.

Clark placed both his hands over his father's and his eyes drifted shut. "Can you hear that?" Clark asked. "It's a whisper, almost a song. I can't hear." If he could just touch it, he could hear. Clark peeled back his father's hands gently but efficiently and enfolded the rock in his fist. What had been a vague enticement, flared into actual sound and light. A high delicate song, a lullaby, the sound that filled Clark's mind wasn't alien. It was a sound he'd dreamed of without knowing what it was. There was more than the song though, there were words, fluid and lyrical. Like a grain of sand dropped into the ocean, Clark was swept away by a torrent of information, most of which he couldn't decipher.

Martha hurried back through the kitchen, the heavy little lead box cradled in the crook of her arm. "I've got it..." Jonathan looked so scared, and Clark, he was motionless hand extended and curled into a fist. The crystal's blue light glowed around his fingers. "What happened? Is he okay?" Martha banged her box down on the table and tucked her hair behind her ears nervously.

"I don't know," Jonathan said. "I couldn't keep him away from it. Clark peeled it out of my hand like I was a child." _I let him down...again._

Martha reached out a hand to Clark's outstretched one and tried to pry his fingers open. It was like trying to bend inch thick steel. "Help me John," Martha gasped.

Jonathan took Martha by the shoulders and pulled her back a step. "I already tried. He's too strong. At least it isn't hurting him like the meteor rocks."

Martha wiped at a line of tears and struggled free of Jonathan's protective grip. "It may be hurting him, Jon. You don't know. We have to do something."

"What do you want me to do?" Jonathan half-expected Martha to come up with a plan, something. "Just tell me what to do."

"I don't know. We have to... I don't know." This time it was Martha who went to Jonathan, seeking his embrace. Other parents could call for help if something happened to their child. Not the Kents, they had to face this alone. There were no experts to call, no doctors, nobody. "He's counting on us."


	6. Chapter 5 Talk to Me

**-- Chapter 5 -- Talk to Me --**

Soft blue light and gentle whispers from a thousand voices filled the world. Clark drifted through a warm safe place. There were too many voices speaking at once for any one to stand out and Clark didn't even bother trying to distinguish between them. This feeling: no worries, no fear, no hope, no anger - this was peace.

_Clark? Baby, please come back. Open your eyes. _

A single cry no less gentle than the whispers surrounding him, cut through the veil of blue and Clark felt a trill of fear. Mom? She sounded scared, unsure. Clark wanted to answer, but he couldn't move, couldn't reach out to her. The other whispers increased as if trying to blot out the offending emotions welling up in him. Clark wouldn't surrender to their peaceful embrace again.

With a force of will Clark mustered the strength to call out into the void. "Stop!" The whispers ceased immediately and the strange paralysis seemed to fade back. "Mom? Are you here?" Clark moved through the hazy blue void, groping for anything substantial. His mother needed him, but there was nothing and no one. "Somebody, I heard you. Wherever this is, I want out. Someone let me out!"

The world flashed white and Clark was aware of himself again, the floor under his feet, the rock curled in his fist. He sucked in a breath of air and opened his eyes. Sunlight wasn't streaming across the kitchen anymore, but his parents were still there. Mom was resting her head on Dad's shoulder, and he was stroking her back gently. If it were possible, they seemed even more strained than before... Clark stared down at his hand, at the now dormant stone. A wave of chills washed over him and he dropped the offending object. "What happened? Are you guys okay?"

His parents weren't slow to react to his questions. They came out of their chairs and to his side, touching him as if they needed assurance that he had really spoken, that he was okay.

"Are we okay?" Martha asked. "You scared us to death." That phrase didn't quite do justice to the last two hours of waiting, the exquisite agony of not knowing what was happening or if it would ever end.

Jonathan snatched up the blue stone and sealed it into the little lead box on the table. "Look here, son," he said. Clark turned and let his dad get a good look into his eyes. The relief that welled up in Jonathan when he saw his son staring out at him was overwhelming. "You're shaking." He ran a hand across his son's bare arm and winced. "Could be because you're freezing."

Clark shrugged and tried to stop shivering. "A little chilled maybe."

Martha seized on the chance to help with something. Warmth she could provide. "Let's get you warmed up. I'll put on some hot tea, and I want you under the blanket in the living room."

Jonathan ushered his son across the kitchen and tucked him under the old patchwork quilt, which normally draped the back of the couch. The initial relief at having Clark wake up from the strange trance he'd fallen into was fast fading and questions were boiling in Jonathan. "Son, I have to ask you what happened. I know you asked your mother and me that question already, but we don't know anything. That little blue rock just showed up in the storm cellar. You came home and grabbed it. Then you went all catatonic on us."

Clark could remember the warm place, the voices and the calm, the peace. "I went catatonic? Was it for long?"

"Two hours. Long enough to terrify us," Jonathan said.

"I had a dream." Clark paused, trying to find words for the strange experience he'd only just awoken from. "It was warm and I knew I was safe. There were voices that I couldn't understand and a song that just made me want to sleep. It was the most calming place in the world. All soft blue and familiar, it was like...I don't know what it was like." Clark still felt chilled but not as badly as before. He clutched the quilt tightly around himself, having to consciously loosen his grip so as not to rip the old fabric to shreds. "You said this rock just showed up in the storm cellar. How? Who put it there? Does someone know about me now?"

"We just don't know," Jonathan said. "I don't want you to be afraid though. We'll keep you safe. Martha and I won't ever let anything happen to you. You know that." Jonathan refused to listen to the tiny voice inside him, which insisted on pointing out that they hadn't even been able to help Clark today when the tiny blue rock attacked. How were they supposed to defend him against an entire military or national security agency?

"I have tea, very hot," Martha said. She set her little tray on the coffee table and offered the steaming cup to Clark. To her credit, her hand hardly shook at all. "Are we warming up a little?"

Clark let the blanket loosen a bit around his shoulders and nodded. "I feel almost normal again."

* * *

Motionless like a statue, the Eradicator stood a silent vigil in the woods near her ship. Following the embarrassing failure with Mr. Luthor, she had taken the only logical course of action open to her. She entered into a comprehensive self-diagnostic and restart. Given, it was a slow process, but necessary to help alleviate any further mistakes before they could occur. Miscalculating and somehow missing or damaging her Kryptonian was not an option.

Unfortunately for the Eradicator, she was barely midway through her level one diagnostic when the Kryptonian found the message she left at his life pod. The information, which would allow her to finally seek her master in earnest was logged and stored for review following the completion of her self-maintenance. Oblivious to her good fortune, she continued to test the neural pathways making up her AI, eternally blind to the growing distortions in her logic pathways but hyperaware of her logic failures.

* * *

Flanked by his parents and still wrapped in a blanket, Clark couldn't help feeling seven years old. The first time he took off running really fast his mom had bundled him into a blanket, plied him with tea and taken his temperature repeatedly. The blanket with tea was always a first solution with his mom. A blanket and tea could fix almost anything, anything except him and ailing farms. It couldn't make him normal, and it wasn't going to make the corn crop turn a profit. "I know we've had a little drama this afternoon," Clark said. He leaned forward and stared down at his hands. "But I think we ought to go ahead with the family meeting as planned."

Martha shook her head and exchanged a look with Jonathan. "Tomorrow, we'll discuss the farm tomorrow. I don't think my head would be in it tonight."

"Listen to your mother. Things can wait one more night," Jonathan said.

"I don't want to wait one more night..." Clark's comment was cut off by the phone's ring, and Jonathan headed for the wall phone. With a sighed he turned to his mom. "The indecision is driving me crazy," Clark said. "I can't think, concentrate."

"Clark, it's Mr. Sullivan. Have you seen Chloe this afternoon?" Jonathan called. "She hasn't made it home yet. Her dad's a little worried."

It was almost strange, coming out of the orbit of his own problems to worry about Chloe. It felt good to let go of those familiar unchanging crises. Clark shook his head. "I saw her around 6th period. She was planning on checking out a story this afternoon." If his parents were too freaked out to talk about the farm, then Clark could occupy his mind and his worrying on something else. Chloe was probably just asleep at the Torch, but any activity was better than sitting around the house, not talking about the pink elephant in the room. "Tell Mr. Sullivan that I was running to the Torch anyway, and I'll check on her for him."

Martha followed Clark for a couple of steps. "After what happened this afternoon, I think you should stay home and get a little rest." In all honesty, she thought he needed rest less than she needed to keep an eye on him. "You know Chloe's fine."

"I won't know she's fine unless I check. It'll take a few minutes and the run will warm any of those lingering chills right out of me," Clark said.

"Hold up, son," Jonathan said. He joined Martha and shook his head. "Listen to your mother on this one. You've had a shock to your system."

"I swear it'll be fine," Clark said. He tried a smile on, but it felt forced. "Chloe might really be in trouble. She finds more danger than anybody has the right to."

The protests Martha was about to offer died on her lips. She needed him to stay for her piece of mind. He needed to check on Chloe for his sanity. "Hurry home, okay," she said.

Jonathan turned a surprised look to Martha. "What?"

Clark didn't wait for his father to agree. "Thanks. I won't be long."


	7. Chapter 6 Broken Things

**-- Chapter 6 -- Broken Things --**

Alone.

Helpless.

Scared.

Lost.

Curled up, knees pressed against her chest, Chloe rocked rhythmically. A prisoner inside herself, she couldn't seem to break out of her mind. The self-sufficient reporter who wandered into the woods hadn't vanished. She just wasn't in charge anymore. A weak, lost little girl had taken over and that little girl wasn't willing to uncurl, to move. That weak little girl wanted to hide. She wanted her daddy.

_Snap out of it! _the strong Chloe wanted to shout. _Let me back in control, stop whimpering like an infant and stand up. Walk out of this place before that thing comes back. WALK!_

* * *

Clark moved through trees at the Martin's tree farm, not a streak of color at the moment but a slow moving searcher. The tree farm hadn't been his first stop, and he wasn't sure this was the right place to find Chloe, but it seemed like a good bet when he hadn't found her at the Torch. "Chloe?" Clark called. He scanned the area using his vision to look straight through the trees and turned a circle scanning. The _x-ray vision thing _was a skill he had begun to really perfect. He hardly had to focus anymore. It was becoming instinctive.

Nothing was jumping out at him, well three squirrels and a deer, but no Chloe. Maybe Chloe was already on her way home? Maybe she hadn't even come out to the tree farm? Clark sucked in a deep breath scented with pine and dirt and turned for home. It was stupid really. Chloe wasn't going to be in trouble every time he turned his back. One last glance through the woods, and he'd let it rest. He'd go home and face his parents.

It was a small thing really that caught his attention, motion, back and forth but not like the trees in the wind. Clark focused his vision and his heart seemed to stop beating. A human skeleton was curled on the ground rocking. All those skills with his vision seemed to vanish in stressful situations, and instead of refocusing to check the identity of the person, Clark took off running.

"Chloe." Rocking back and forth, she hadn't even looked up when he called her name. Clark didn't know what to do. There wasn't any danger that he could see, nothing to protect her from. Dropping down to one knee, he reached out a hand. He'd barely brushed her shoulder and she started screaming. Clark jerked back. "Chloe it's me, Clark. I'm sorry...Chloe?" She looked feral, insane. Leaves clung to her hair, and her clothes were torn and filthy.

"Don't touch me. Don't touch me. Don't ever touch me again," she hissed. "Stay out of my head." Rational sensible Chloe was still far from in charge, but hiding whimpering Chloe was fast fading toward a more aggressively self-protective girl.

Clark threw his hands up and leaned back. Whatever had happened, Chloe seemed to be in some kind of shock, disoriented. "What happened, Chloe? I just want to help."

Chloe pushed herself backwards, her eyes never leaving Clark as though she suspected he might strike. "She went in my head, though everything. Every thought I ever had, she had her cold hands all over them." Chloe punctuated the statement by slapping at her forehead. Twin steams of tears coursed down her cheeks, cleaning some of the dirt caking over her skin. Like a light flashing on behind her eyes, Chloe seemed to come back to herself enough to recognize, Clark. "Help me. Don't let her hurt me. Please don't let her hurt me."

Like a vise around his heart, Clark felt familiar guilt fill his chest. This was his fault. He should have been here, should have protected his friend. Everyone would tell him how wrong it was to take responsibility for something that he couldn't possibly have prevented. None of those people understood what it was like to have so much power that it felt like you were invincible half the time. They would never understand the frustration and the guilt when despite everything...you failed someone you loved. "I'm so sorry Chloe." Clark hardly noticed when he started to cry. "You need to go to the hospital. Will you let me help you?"

* * *

The Eradicator opened her eyes, diagnostics complete, messages internalized. Her calling card had been found. The Kryptonian, her Kryptonian, was alive and identified. Clark Kent? It was almost logical. He had the look of a Kryptoniam, at least according to the being Chloe's memory.

Her Kryptonian should have stood out more among such frail slow creatures as these humans. He should have been considered elite, Godlike even. Instead he was average, a good friend, a good son, nothing more.

A choice for anonymity, it must have been a conscious choice. Hiding wasn't a very Kryptonian course of action, but some eccentricity was to be expected of a child raised among savages. She would show Clark who he was and where he belonged. There was so much to teach.

The Eradicator took flight. Above the trees, an invisible black shadow against the night sky, she sought her master.

* * *

Martha sat on her back porch steps and listened to the sounds of the night, the crickets and the bullfrogs, the wind in the drying corn. Over all the other sounds, a staccato nervous rhythm, Jonathan's boots on the porch behind her, paced incessantly. "Clark's fine," Martha said. It wasn't the first time she'd said it, but Jonathan didn't seem to want to hear her.

"I know he's fine," Jonathan said. "I just wish I understood what happened this afternoon. I wish I knew what was happening."

Martha smiled and looked over her shoulder. "We've taken a lot on faith when it comes to Clark. Why should we start understanding things now? It's a lot to ask, to understand the miracles in your life."

"God forbid, we ask too much: a child, a home, a bit of happiness. I'd hate to be greedy." Jonathan stopped pacing and took a seat next to his wife.

Martha moved closer to Jonathan and hooked her arm through his. "I've been thinking since Clark left to check on Chloe. I want you to hear me out, okay? I know every smell, every sound, every mud puddle on this farm. This is our home, the place we raised Clark. All our memories are here. But as much as this place means, our family means more."

"You think we should leave our home, just walk away." Jonathan felt a terrible tension headache building behind his eyes and he looked up at the stars.

Martha could feel the pain behind Jonathan's statement. This farm was the Kent family legacy, an inheritance passed from father to son, and she was suggesting that they scrap it. "For Clark, to keep him safe, we could get away from the meteor rocks, everything."

Let go of the farm. Keep Clark safe. Jonathan just couldn't talk about it, not yet. It felt like his heart was torn in two directions at once. "I'm going inside to call Mr. Sullivan; make sure Clark saw Chloe home."

Martha nodded and didn't let Jonathan's withdrawal hurt her feelings. He deserved a chance to think. Martha wrapped her arms around her knees and tried to memorize every scent, from the tang of her herb garden to the fresh green aroma of the ripe corn. If they left this place, she would take as much of it with her as possible. She'd dig up the herbs in her patch and pot them, and take a cutting of the butterfly bush. Even if they ended up in Metropolis with only a window-box garden, she'd keep the farm with them.

Martha ran a hand along the peeling white paint of the porch step, and started humming an old hymn her mom used to sing every morning.

"Down to the river?"

Martha jumped and turned. "Lex? You scared me to death. I didn't hear your car."

Lex smiled easily and finished rounding the house. He headed into the halo of light expanding slightly beyond the back porch. "I parked out at the barn, but Clark wasn't manning his telescope tonight. Must be tiring, harvest season and all. I guess he went to bed early."

Martha shrugged. "Clark is pretty tough, even for a farm kid. He went down to the Torch to wake Chloe up and tell her to go home. Can I help you, Lex?"

Lex shook his head, totally unaware of the charm he was oozing. "The question is, can I help you?"


	8. Chapter 7 Found

**-- Chapter 7 -- Found -- **

Sterile white and the smell of bleach, Clark hated the Smallville Hospital's waiting room. The last time he'd spent any time there his dad had been occupying an intensive care bed fighting for his life. Today wasn't any pleasanter.

"Clark? Where's Chloe? What happened?" Mr. Sullivan said.

Clark didn't want to turn, to face Chloe's dad. Calling him had been bad enough. "Sir, I found her in the woods, at the Martin's. She was a little confused. I don't know what happened." Clark said. "The doctor is in with her now." Mr. Sullivan was almost shaking and he sank into one of the faded plastic chairs next to Clark.

"You knew where to find her though? What was she doing out in those woods? Was she okay? You could tell that she was okay right?" Mr. Sullivan said.

Clark tried to think of a way to answer that question that wouldn't panic Chloe's dad. Describing the ramblings and the confusion of the woods wasn't something Clark wanted to attempt. Chloe had been improving steadily, and her dad didn't need to know how bad things had been. "She was out there following up on a story for the Torch. I should have went with her, normally I would..."

"Mr. Sullivan?" a man in a white starched lab coat said.

Clark trailed away and watched doctor and father leave to discuss Chloe. More than anything in the world he wanted to eavesdrop on that conversation. Unfortunately, eavesdropping wasn't exactly an option. Instead, Clark made for the door to Chloe's room. He could check on her in person.

There she was, scrubbed clean by the orderlies and tied up in a voluminous green gown. She looked small against the starched white sheets. Not asleep though, two gray eyes under drooping lids were staring at him. "Clark? Get in here." Chloe rolled her head to the side and stared up at the IV dripping in her arm. "I think they're trying to sedate me. I feel all loopy anyway."

Clark smiled and came over to the bedside. He felt awkward and misplaced, but infinitely relieved. Chloe sounded like Chloe, if a little doped up. "Believe it or not, you sound pretty un-loopy to me right now."

"Really?" Chloe yawned dramatically and patted one of Clark's hands with her own. "I think I should sleep. Chloe snuggled down under the white hospital linens and let her heavy eyelids drift shut. "I had the strangest dream... the world was moving so fast. It felt like flying, and you were there. I was safe."

Clark winced and nodded. He had run to the hospital with Chloe in his arms. He hadn't dared wait until some ambulance could make their way out to help. He'd been too panicked. Clark had hoped she wouldn't remember. "Just sleep Chloe. It'll all feel better in the morning." He wasn't sure how true that statement was but it sounded like the right thing to say.

Chloe frowned and gripped Clark's hand a little tighter. "Thank you, for protecting me."

"Don't thank me," Clark wanted to say. "I let this happen. Showing up to take you to the hospital isn't protection." Instead Clark held Chloe's hand silently, and waited for the IV bag to work its magic.

* * *

Martha smiled politely and nodded to her unexpected visitor, Lex. He had ideas, plans, possibilities, and endless capital to back him up. Because of Clark, he wanted to help their family. Lex wanted to save the farm, but it didn't matter. Jonathan would rather sell the entire spread than make a deal with a Luthor. Normally Martha would be the liberal when it came to Lex. She would argue Jonathan into making concessions, but today she'd decided that saving the farm might not be the right plan. Today she had no incentive to argue Lex's case to her husband.

"Lex," Martha interrupted. "Today really isn't a good day. Jonathan won't be happy if he comes out here and we're talking shop about the farm. It's our business. We can handle it."

Lex paused mid-pitch and sighed. Frustration boiled in him. At least Martha was usually open-minded enough to let him finish explaining how he'd like to help. "When would be a good day? When you lose your home?"

A shout from the kitchen prevented Martha from making a proper reply. "Martha, I couldn't get Sullivan on the phone, and Clark should already be back. I'm worried after that spell in the kitchen this afternoon. It wouldn't be overprotective to take the truck in to check the school to see if he made it?" Jonathan called.

Martha cringed internally and smiled at Lex. "That would be entirely too overprotective," Martha replied. She hoped silently that the nervous tension in her voice wasn't bleeding through. "Besides we have a guest."

In the kitchen, Jonathan dropped his truck keys on the table and sighed. He looked heavenward and silently prayed that their _visitor_ wasn't who he imagined it was. This was not a good day. The storm cellar wasn't properly sealed up and Clark had his attack of catatonia. It was only symmetrical that a Luthor arrive on their porch step. Bad things were supposed to come in threes. Through the backdoor and into the light, Jonathan couldn't resist sighing again when he identified their guest. "Lex." Jon said the word as if it were slightly distasteful. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

Lex looked from Martha to Jonathan and back again. They seemed nervous, jumpy. "I came to see Clark, but he wasn't around so I was just saying hello to Mrs. Kent. Is Clark okay? You said he had a spell today?"

Jonathan could have kicked himself for allowing Lex to overhear about Clark's brief illness. "Clark's just fine."

Martha nodded quickly, backing up Jonathan's assertion. "He had an allergy thing. Sometimes when my butterfly bush is in bloom, it gets to Clark."

Lex couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this

_spell _than the Kents were willing to let on. An uneasy feeling lurched through his stomach. Lying wasn't something he'd ever pictured the self-righteous Jonathan Kent practicing. "Right, well tell Clark I hope he's feeling better. I've had my fair share of experience with hypersensitivity, and it isn't much fun."

Jonathan had to bite his lip to contain a sarcastic comment. It was just like Lex to try and make "allergies" into a twenty-letter word that proved his college education. "We'll be sure and tell him."

Martha stood up and managed to muster a warm smile. "I know Clark will be sorry he missed you."

* * *

The Eradicator moved through clear crisp night air, oblivious to the smell of ripe corn or the sounds of life around her. Her first sight of the Kent homestead was from above. To say that she wasn't impressed would have been an understatement. "Squalor, uncivilized, what will I find?" Coming to land and gaining proximity on the dwelling didn't improve her impression. It was unimaginably small, and the sealant, paint, was falling off in ragged flakes.

There were voices, three distinct individuals. One she recognized already, Lex Luthor. The other two were unknowns. Her Kryptonian? Maybe. Around the dwelling and to the back, the Eradicator scanned the new beings critically. Too old, these would be the surrogate parents.

"I'll see you later then." Lex could tell when he was being asked politely to leave, and he'd never been one to linger beyond his welcome. Turning, he strolled around the side of the house and came face to face with the insane goddess responsible for the neat bandage around his right hand. "You again?" Lex said. "I thought you were over me."

"Approaching you was a mistake, Mr. Luthor. You aren't whom I seek. Where is Clark Kent?" the Eradicator asked.

Lex groaned internally. The insane sex kitten was strong and dangerous. As if Clark didn't have enough trouble at the moment. "You've changed obsessions then. Good for me, bad for Clark," Lex said.

"Who's there?" Jonathan said. More visitors? It was turning into a regular party. He and Martha came down off the porch and joined Lex across from their new visitor.

"Be careful," Lex said. He blocked the Kents from getting too close. "She's strong and not terribly sane."

"I take it you're acquainted, Lex. What did you do to her?" Jonathan said.

"Jonathan," Martha scolded. She whacked him in the arm and gave him a hard look. There wasn't any reason to be rude.

"Where is Clark Kent? I have come for him," the Eradicator asked. This time she took a step toward Lex. He would answer her, or she'd inflict pain upon him until he did.

Martha winced and exchanged a quick look with Jonathan. This woman had come for Clark? Who was she? How did she know their son? "Who are you?" Martha asked. "What could you possibly want with Clark?" Did she know? Was she the one who'd been in their cellar? What did she know?

"Where is Clark Kent?!" the Eradicator screamed. "I will not be ignored." A lock of her curls had fallen forward into her face giving her a wild disheveled look, and she grabbed Lex by the arm.

Jonathan pushed Martha back a step behind him and felt a rush of fear. Strong and insane, she sounded like your typical meteor-rock mutant. Whatever she wanted with Clark, at least he wasn't here. Now if he could just keep everybody else safe. "Look Clark isn't here. He's out with a friend and he won't be back any time soon."

"Don't bother trying to lie. You aren't very good at it. Your heart speeds up, I can hear it," the Eradicator said. "He will be returning soon then?" She began squeezing Lex's arm, quite gently by her standards. She didn't want to rip it off.

Lex clenched his teeth and tried not to scream. The dull pressure she'd been applying gave way quickly to crushing compression, like a steel vise being gradually tightened. "I don't have any idea where Clark is!" Lex lied.

* * *

Clark surrendered himself to the motion, the speed, as he raced through the fields of corn for home. Getting away from the hospital hadn't been easy. He felt so guilty, and there hadn't been any chance to apologize. It didn't seem fair that he just go home. His parents were probably worried though, and Mr. Sullivan was there to hold Chloe's hand and wait for her to wake up.

Out of the corn and into the open, Clark stopped running. A frown creased his brow and he turned toward the back of the house. People were screaming. They were screaming about him? With a slight burst of super-speed Clark headed for the conflict. There was a woman. She looked insane, and Lex seemed to be getting the bad end of her anger.

"Someone looking for me?" Clark asked. He stepped between Lex and the woman who had him by the arm. "I'm right here."


	9. Chapter 8 Preservation of the Charade

**-- Chapter 8 -- Preservation of the Charade --**

The Eradicator released Lex Luthor and moved back away from the small group of people in front of her. Her Kryptonian, tall and dark-haired, at least he looked healthy if a little odd in those clothes. "I have searched years. There is so much to say. I am known as the Eradicator, but I will answer to any designation you choose to give me." She dropped to her knees and continued staring up at Clark. "Ask me anything. I can tell you everything."

Clark didn't have a clue what to say. There was a dark-haired beauty begging him on her knees to ask her questions. "What's going on?" Clark turned to his parents and a very ragged looking Lex. "Are you guys okay?"

"I'm peachy," Lex said. He was cradling his right arm protectively. "That psychopath is just doing her best to kill me. I'm calling the police." Lex pulled out his cell phone and started dialing.

Jonathan nodded to Clark. "You're mother and I are fine."

"She is not his mother," the Eradicator said. "To answer your question, what is going on, I have come for you, to take you home."

"Watch out," Lex said, tilting his cell phone away from his face. "She started along a similar line with me before she attacked."

Martha hardly heard Lex's warning. The woman kneeling in from of Clark, couldn't they see it, the resemblance. She could be Clark's sister. They had the same black curling hair and strong bones. Martha tried not to panic.

_I have come for you, to take you home. _Martha used to have nightmares about that phrase. She'd sit on her porch watching Clark play around the barnyard, chasing the chickens she used to keep. Most of the time she was filled with joy watching her son. Sometimes her rational mind would step in, and the part of her that didn't believe things worked out so perfectly would assert itself. No one would send a little baby to another world alone. Someone was going to come for him to fix the mistake that had stranded him on their world. Someone was going to come and take Clark away. It had been years since she had had that nightmare, but all the old fears came bubbling up in her. She just wanted to grab Clark by the arm and run.

"I'll be careful, Lex," Clark said. He turned back to the woman. She seemed sort of pathetic kneeling there. For the second time that day, Clark found himself dealing with a highly confused woman. "Look, this is my home. These are my adopted parents. Is there someone we can call for you?"

"Besides the police?" the Eradicator said. She stared hard at Lex and rose gracefully to her feet. This was not an acceptable progression. "You don't have any idea who I am. You have to know that you're different. I have come for you from your real home. You are the last of them, my master. For you I would do almost anything. Would you like to know what I won't do?"

Clark took a step back and shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just an ordinary guy." The lie came easily to his lips, but it didn't stop the fear growing in him. Clark had a sinking suspicion that this woman, Eradicator, whoever she was, might be from wherever he was supposed to be from, not Kansas, not Earth...

The Eradicator smiled and cocked her head to the side, a very Chloe gesture. Of course that's where she learned it. "I'll tell you what I won't do, whether you want to hear it or not. I won't kill you, and I won't let you stay here. You've languished in this squalor long enough. Wasting away on this planet is beneath you." She pulled out a blue crystal, much like the one sitting in a little lead box in the Kent's kitchen. "I'll leave this for you. Take some time to remember, to get used to the idea of what is happening. It isn't my intent to harm you or anyone. I will return, soon. We'll talk again." She placed the rock at Clark's feet and took a step back. "Don't make me search for you. I won't be so kind to those people I must use to find you the second time." .

The Eradicator moved with a speed Clark had never actually seen, he'd always been a part of it. She didn't run though, this woman flew away into the night. Clark shut his eyes rather than look at the blue rock glowing at his feet. He wouldn't fall into the trap the crystal represented again. Whatever that woman was, she didn't get to dictate his life to him. "What the Heck is going on?" Clark said.

Jonathan leaned close to Martha so Lex couldn't hear. "Get the lead box from the kitchen. We don't need a repeat performance from this afternoon." Jonathan took a deep breath and tried not make the comparison his mind kept running through, that woman could move as fast as Clark. Who the Hell was she?

Martha nodded and headed for the house at a run. Damn appearances, let Lex think whatever he wanted. That thing was after her son.

"Clark?" Jonathan said. "You okay there?" Why now? Why in this moment did their whole lives have to be balancing on a knife's edge, with Lex Luthor to watch. He couldn't really ask what he wanted to. He couldn't be afraid about whether an alien just dropped by to reclaim his son. Instead he had to play this as normal as possible.

"I'm fine, a little confused," Clark said. He still didn't dare open his eyes. It was all he could do not to snatch up the crystal as it was. It was singing to him, begging him to just reach out a hand. NO. Now would be a bad time to zone out. Lex would not understand.

Jonathan could see how tightly Clark's hands were curled into fists and that his eyes were squeezed shut. _You're fighting it aren't you. That bloody rock wants you to pick it up. Well you fight it. I'll keep your audience distracted. _Jonathan hoped his firm pat on Clark's back conveyed some of the encouragement he wanted to say. "Lex, are you okay? That girl looked like she was about to rip your arm clean off." Jonathan moved away from his son and tried to block Lex's view.

Lex could hear the dispatcher from 911 chattering in his ear, but he closed the phone. "Mr. Kent, I'm fine. I've got the bruise of the century, but I don't think anything's broken." Something was wrong here. Clark was not acting much like himself. The kid was overprotective to a fault. Why was he just standing over there not moving? Not to mention, Mrs. Kent was running around like an overexcited chicken. Lex tried to make his way past Mr. Kent to check on Clark, but Jonathan wouldn't get out of his path. This was ridiculous.

"You should really sit down and relax, Lex. You're hurt," Jonathan said.

Martha came out the back door still running. The metal box was mashed under her arm and she came to a skidding stop next to Clark. She snatched the blue rock up and sealed it with its twin. Clark sagged visibly. Martha came shakily to her feet and touched her son tentatively. "You're okay, we'll get through this, whatever it is," Martha whispered. "Now get over there and check on Lex before he tackles your father to find out what's wrong with you."

"Right."_ Time to put a bright face on it. Time to make everything look normal. _"Lex, did she hurt you?" Clark joined Lex and his father. He couldn't let the panic building in him show. That girl wasn't an alien. She just couldn't be. Why would they leave him for over ten years and come back?

Lex felt a familiar prickling and the hair on the back of his neck stood straight up. Instincts honed over years of living with Lionel Luthor, were singing. He was being lied to. "Like I just told your dad, I'm fine," Lex said. "You're going to have to be careful though. That girl is insane and she's fixated on you. Extreme strength and the ability to fly can't exactly be considered good attributes in a stalker. And while we're on the topic of the lovely 'Eradicator', the police should be here shortly." The Kents were hiding something. Suspicions that he'd been fighting since Clark first fished him out of the river, flooded back. What are you really Clark Kent? Are you another meteor-mutant? You handle it better than most if you are. "Are you okay, Clark? You seem a little..."

Clark forced himself to smile. "She freaked me out. Unlike you, I've never had my very own stalker."

Stop, Lex commanded himself. He was such an ass sometimes. Clark was Clark. He didn't deserve the suspicion Lex couldn't seem to completely shake. Everyone wasn't a liar. The Kents wouldn't know how to lie. "I wonder if the police will believe the stalker 'flew' away?"

Jonathan coughed and shook his head. "I'm not particularly interested in being committed."

"Then we're agreed," Lex said. "Stalkers don't fly. They run away."

Clark nodded and looked off into the night where the Eradicator had disappeared. Smallville was the land of the weird and unexplained. Just because she flew didn't make her an extraterrestrial.

* * *

The Eradicator watched from a distance as the police came and went. She listened to the carefully worded explanations of what happened. She listened and she learned. Leaving her Kryptonian for a short time hadn't been simply to help him adjust. It was also an opportunity for her to study him. When she understood whom he had become, she would know how best to save him from this place.

* * *

Jonathan dropped heavily onto the living room sofa next to his wife and massaged his temples. Martha had the lead box carrying the blue stone secure in her lap with her hands folded over it protectively. "I thought Lex Luthor was going to stay all night," Jonathan said.

"He couldn't exactly leave until the police let him," Clark said. "I don't think he suspects anything's up. He thinks she..."

"The Eradicator," Martha interjected. That name was so in sync with her perception of what the crazy woman was trying to do that Martha had embraced it immediately. The Eradicator wanted to destroy her family. It wanted to take her child.

"Right, the Eradicator, Lex thinks she's a psycho. He's probably right too. Why would anyone come for me after all this time?" Clark waited for his parents to agree with him. He needed them to agree. "It's just a freaky coincidence."

Martha nodded but there were tears in her eyes. "Did you see how fast she was. It was just like you Clark."

"She flew. I don't fly," Clark said. I'm scared Clark wanted to scream._ Can't you just tell me that she isn't who she says she is. Lie for God's sake._

"Maybe you can. A month ago would you have been looking through walls?" Jonathan said. "We have to take this very seriously."

"Just wait, she didn't claim to be like Clark," Martha said. "She said that he was the last of her creators."

"What are you saying? You think she's for real?" Clark asked.

"I'm afraid that she is what she says," Martha whispered. She came to her feet and wrapped her boy in a hug. She squeezed as tight as she could. "I don't want to lose you."

"You never could," Clark whispered. "It doesn't matter who she is."


	10. Chapter 9 Ghosts

**-- Chapter 9 -- Ghosts --**

The Kent barn loft, a hay filled sanctuary, scented by the sweet ripe smells of autumn, still held the humidity and heat from the afternoon sun. Clark crouched by his telescope unphased by the stuffy heat and adjusted the device so that instead of Lana Lang's front porch, it pointed to the stars. Scanning the heavens absently, Clark tried to detach himself from the insanity of the last few hours. Not surprisingly, he failed utterly. Clark picked one of the stars, a random one. He didn't know its name. He didn't want to know it. _Two strangers from the heavens... _Clark addressed the celestial body. "I'm an alien, and I'm scared. I would imagine that giant balls of gas like yourself rarely get frightened, but I do." Clark shifted his lens slightly focusing more directly on the star. "I really need someone to talk to. Mom and Dad mean well. I just can't seem to say what I'm thinking around them all of a sudden."

Clark leaned back into the fresh hay and let his eyes drift shut. He could still see the star in his mind and the one-sided conversation continued. "This is a little hard to admit, and I'd never tell Mom or Dad this, but I think maybe I want that woman to be what she says she is. I don't want to leave my home, and I'm not going to, but there are a lot of questions I'd like to ask. I want to know who my parents are, why they deserted me. I want to know what I am, and what I'm becoming." Clark tried to imagine the Earth filled with people just like him, a world where everyone was fast and strong and could see through things. Clark grinned. "I bet they used a lot of lead up there."

Almost like an answer from the nameless star, a voice rang out. "Lead was not necessary in a polite society. I can answer your other questions as well. You're a Kryptonian, the last son of a great and powerful race."

Clark almost knocked his telescope out of the loft when he sat up. She was back. The Eradicator was in his loft. "I'm a what?"

"You're a Kryptonian, only son to Jorel and Lara. Your mother was an artist. She sculpted with light and sound. Your father was a scientist, well respected and brilliant." She didn't pause. "Your parents cared for you a great deal and saved your life despite a contradictory decree from the Kryptonian ruling Council." Like a carnival barker trying to entice a fairgoer into her attraction with just enough information, the Eradicator stopped speaking. "If you'd like to see them, your parents, you should try to use the piece of Kryptonium I left behind. You remember the little blue crystal. Be mentally firm with it, don't let it drain you or distract you. Those little crystals have a tendency to want to sing nonsense all day." She headed for the exit past his telescope. "I will be close. If you need me, call."

How the heck had she gotten into his loft without him noticing her? Clark stared open-mouthed as the Eradicator disappeared into the night sky. _You're a Kryptonian. _Clark shook his head. He was Clark Kent, son to Jonathan and Martha. Biology didn't matter. His parents were the people who raised him, not the ones who abandoned him. _Your parents cared for you a great deal and saved your life…_Clark felt a guilty shiver run down his back. He wanted to see them, this artist and scientist that supposedly gave birth to him.

Clark was sitting at the kitchen table with the lead Pandora's box in front of him, before he stopped to reconsider the impulse that had driven him from his loft to the kitchen in two seconds flat. This could be dangerous. He needed to be clearheaded to keep everyone safe from his "new friend" the Eradicator. He didn't even know what these crystals were or how they worked. Like a child contemplating the forbidden cookie jar, Clark tried not to focus on the negative possibilities. The first stone hadn't actually hurt him. It made him feel safe even.

Clark flipped open the little box a tiny crack. The blue glow spilled across his face and he almost snatched one of the stones up before he caught himself. The Eradicator had said to be firm. Well if they could sing into his mind, maybe they could hear his. _Stop playing games! _The mental shout seemed to work, and the unnatural compulsion to hold the stones faded. Clark smiled a little and pushed the box all the way open. The Eradicator hadn't lied about being able to stand up to the "Kryptonium."

They looked identical glowing there, side by side._ Which one of you knows who my biological parents are? _Clark hadn't honestly expected an answer. The question was an idle one. One of the stones flared brighter though. Clark stared at the rock. This was foolish and dangerous... and he was going to do it.

Unlike the last time, when he grabbed one of these rocks on compulsion, Clark wasn't swept away or lost. The tiny crystal felt warm under his fingers and it glowed furiously. Clark started to speak aloud, but he looked up the stairs warily. His parents wouldn't understand this. Instead, Clark stepped out into the yard, and headed into the corn.

Now a safe distance from anyone who might question him, Clark stared hard at the stone. "Can you show me my biological parents?"

The crystal made its reply in a strange melodic language. Then it repeated in English. "Would you like to switch language preferences?"

"You know English?" Clark frowned down at the strange thing. It couldn't be alien then.

"Language preference switched to English. Language-English acquired and downloaded by the Eradicator, do you wish to verify the accuracy of the lingual conversion?"

"No," Clark whispered. The Eradicator seemed to be quite proficient at English, however she had learned it. "My biological parents, I asked you to tell me about them, show them to me."

"Mode switched to modern Kryptonian genealogy. Identify yourself," the crystal commanded.

"I'm Clark Kent?"

"Identification invalid." The crystal flashed once. "Mind-scan conclusive. Welcome Kalel." The little rock rose above his palm twirling and radiating light. The light seemed to become more focused and shot out in regular rapid patterns, eventually coming together into a hazy pair of life-size images, holograms.

"That's them?" Clark didn't respond to the clipped affirmative the little crystal offered. If this was real, if these were his parents...my dad was taller than me. Maybe I'm not through growing. My mom had curly short hair. Clark felt as if his throat were closing up. Little details about people he didn't even know, but he scanned their faces again and again, trying to see himself, to see a connection. "They aren't alive are they? The Eradicator said I was the last of my kind. What happened to the Kryptonians? Why did they die?"

"Data not available. Kryptonian civilization still shines according to last updates," the device said.

Clark nodded, no Kryptonians to update. "Can you tell me about them, Jorel and Lara?"

"Superficial biography available. Detailed accounts can be found in less general reference libraries.

"Jorel: fellow of cosmology, mineralogy, and biochemistry; current research – solar fluctuations and their effects on Kryptonium; life-mate Lara, son Kalel.

"Lara: artist guild member; master sculptor; life-mate Jorel, son Kalel.

Clark reached out a hand and passed it through his biological father's face. He sounded important, brilliant, like the Eradicator had said, but he was smiling. It made him seem almost approachable. Clark turned toward Lara, his biological mother. She looked joyful, mischievous, childlike even. She was so much smaller that Jorel, petite and perfect, like a porcelain doll. "I bet you were happy. Why did you send me here though? If something bad was going to happen and you knew, why didn't you come too? It's not fair for you and your Eradicator to waltz in here after I have a life and try to take that away. I won't leave my life for a couple of ghosts. They need me here. The dead don't need anyone, and I don't need you."

"Power saver mode initiated." The holograms vanished and the Kryptonium crystal blinked much dimmer. "Would you like to inquire along other lines, Kalel."

Kalel, Clark had missed the little thing calling him that the first time. Kalel? "No...wait, can you tell me about the Eradicator?"

"Mode switched, Historical records." A new hologram appeared, instead of two people, a group of five stood there. Four of them were obviously aliens. Each was bizarre in a different way from a lizard-like humanoid to a monolithic gray slug-like creature. Clark hardly gawked at the bizarre projections. The central Eradicator captured his attention. From her long black hair to her perfectly shaped body, it was his Eradicator. "The Eradicator, a weapon designed to be the ultimate in destructive capability, while retaining finesse and small size. Only five Eradicators were produced and used in the third Galactic conflict. Of the five, four were dismantled, due to flawed logic circuits and deteriorating stability. The fifth was placed into indefinite storage."

Flawed logic? That did not sound good. How strong was she? Would he be able to handle her. "Does it have a weakness? What are its abilities?" Clark asked.

"The only true documented flaw in the design is in the logic circuit. An Eradicator should be unable to act without direction from a Kryptonian. In actuality, the system loses stability over time and the machine begins to take independent action. Critics concluded that the AI was too complex to function smoothly." The hologram began to fade as the crystal slowed and dimmed.

"And it's abilities?" Clark asked. His little blue piece of Kryptonium was acting like it needed batteries. Maybe it took double A's?

"To continue functioning, an infusion of energy is required."

The crystal was dropping so Clark held out his hand to catch it. "What do I do?"

"May I recharge fully?" the crystal asked.

Clark frowned down at it and shrugged. "Recharge yourself."

A dizzying weakness washed through Clark and he dropped to his knees. It was almost like the feeling meteor rocks left him with. God he was cold. Clark didn't even get the chance to put two and two together so he could drop the Kryptonium, before he was unconscious on the ground.

* * *

From several hundred yards away, the Eradicator might have laughed if she'd been programmed with a sense of humor. Clark, no, Kalel wasn't in any real danger from the Kryptonium crystal. The device was sentient and it knew better than to harm her master. It would drain him but not unto death. She had warned him not to allow the little beast free reign over him.

The Eradicator had learned much already from her observations, both of her Kryptonian and of the environment and society which had shaped him. He had developed quite well, all things considered. The surrogate parents, while not Kryptonian, had a reasonable sense of justice and logic about them. They were a bit too timid and apt to hide, but that could be trained out of their son.

The Eradicator pulled all but a small amount of her AI away from observing her unconscious master. She reached into her small pouch and removed a green glowing piece of meteor rock, Kryptonite. She had been somewhat disappointed to find this bit of evil present on the planet. This rock was an enemy she had never been given a chance to fight. Her creators had been working to tame Kryptonite for as long as their society had survived. "Your kind destroyed Krypton," she whispered to the stone. A new emotion, rage, filled the Eradicator. She didn't even recognize the new corruption in her logic system. She squeezed the rock in her hand, grinding it into a fine powder. "Still you live," she whispered to the tiny granules flecked across her palm. Each granule would grow into a new distinct organism, just as insane as the original had been. "I will beat you though. You didn't kill all of them. A Kryptonian remains to put you back to rights." The Eradicator blew at the bits of Kryptonite and they flew away into the night's breeze, like a glowing cloud of gangrenous pixie dust.


	11. Chapter 10 Ultimatum

**-- Chapter 10 -- Ultimatum -- **

The sun spilled through the Kent's thin cotton curtains and over their bed. Between the sun and the little bronzed alarm clock rattling for all it was worth, Jonathan and Martha were out of bed quickly. Jonathan smiled at his wife and gestured for her to take the first turn in the bathroom. He'd never say it, but she looked rough, tired. She'd probably slept as little as he had.

"Go ahead, Jon. I want to peek in on Clark," Martha said. "I know I'm being a mother hen, just go." Martha shooed Jonathan toward the bathroom and slipped into her bathrobe. When Clark first came to them, she would start her day like this. She just couldn't believe he was going to be there in his bed. "Clark, rise and shine." Martha poked her head around the corner and it felt like her heart stopped. The bed wasn't slept in. Clark wasn't there.

Don't panic. There wasn't any reason to panic. Clark must have spent the night in the barn loft. No need to call out to Jonathan. She'd just run out there and check. Clark knew better than this. Martha took the stairs two at a time. This wasn't the time to panic. Where were her blessed boots? Martha started across the kitchen. She must have left them in the... The lead box was open on her table. Why was the box open? Two steps and she was gazing down into a half-empty lead box. One stone, why was there only one stone? "Jonathan!!"

* * *

Clark blinked against the sun and yawned. The corn stalks were waving in the breeze, alternately shading and exposing him. What was he doing sleeping in the corn? Clark sat up and stretched. Well he seemed to have slept well. Sometimes he couldn't make himself sleep at night. He just wasn't tired. Clark looked down at the blue rock in his hand and everything came rushing back. The Eradicator, the Kryptonium, it felt like a thousand pounds came crashing down on his shoulders. "Oh no." The sun was up, which meant his parents likely were as well. They probably hadn't noticed he wasn't in bed yet though.

"Clark?!"

Maybe they had noticed. "Hey, I'm here," Clark called. He shoved the piece of Kryptonium in his pocket.

On the porch, Martha sagged against her somewhat soggy husband at the sound of Clark's voice. "Okay, I overreacted," she whispered.

Jonathan squeezed Martha tight and Kissed her on the head. "I overreacted too. We really have to stop panicking. Clark is handling everything just fine. I'm sure there's a very good reason he spent the night outside with one of those rocks."

Clark came trotting up to the porch with a tentative smile plastered on his face. His hair was mussed into an unruly fan around his face, and there were corn leaves clinging to his clothes. "Morning."

All Martha's fear rolled together and flashed into motherly anger. "What do you have to say for yourself? You scared me and your father to death." Clark started to answer, but his mother shook her head at him. "Where is the rock? Why did you get it out?"

Clark dropped his eyes. He couldn't look at his parents and he definitely couldn't tell them about what happened in the corn. "The Eradicator came back last night and paid me a visit."

"What happened, son?" Jonathan said. "Are you okay?"

_I saw my other parents and found out a little bit about what I am. _"I'm fine, promise." Clark fished into his pocket and pulled out the stone. "See, I tamed the Kryptonium."

"The what?" Martha asked.

* * *

"Enough," the Eradicator said. She concluded her latest review of Chloe Sullivan's memories and compared them against her own perceptions of Kal-El. Different courses of action, plans, which would remove Kal-El from Earth, flashed through her mind. The straightforward tact, a physical confrontation, was too dangerous. Harming Kal-El in a permanent way was not an option. Likewise, she discarded the idea of using Kryptonite to restrain her Master. Coercion didn't need to be directly harmful to him. There was a planet full of delicate humans, creatures that held value in his eyes.

The Eradicator's sensors flashed to black. For a moment it seemed that she would cease to function... one millionth of a second then she was operating relatively normally again. She had made the decision to kill without directive from anyone. Her central processor should have disengaged permanently - another flaw. The Eradicator grinned, heady with emotion she was never supposed to feel. It was almost like being alive.

* * *

A little wire-bound notebook and a half-chewed pencil decorated the starched white hospital sheets over Chloe's legs. Loose bubbly handwriting filled the page in front of her, chronicling what she could remember of her attack in the woods.

Chloe nibbled at her thumbnail and wracked her brain for more information. She managed to get lost then there was a woman. Chloe couldn't remember good details about her though. She had thought she was pretty, dark-haired. That hadn't been weird though. She was speaking French? Not French, she wasn't speaking English. And then?

A sharp pain shot through Chloe's head and she draped her arm across her eyes. What was wrong with her? Why couldn't she remember what happened? It was all just too bizarre, even for Smallville. "Chloe Sullivan" was in a "psych ward", and the doctors seemed to think she needed another day of observation. It made her wonder how disoriented she'd been when Clark brought her in. Had she been dangling from the ceiling?

At least Clark had been there to bring her in. She wasn't waking up on the street somewhere confused about how she got there. Memories of Metropolis, homeless people, the lost and the insane, floated in Chloe's mind. It was definitely better to be waking up confused in the hospital. "I want to know what happened."

"That's a good attitude to have, Ms. Sullivan," a man said from her doorway. He extended a hand to her and smiled.

Brown sports coat but not fancy, middle aged with blond hair, maybe a reporter, Chloe speculated, definitely not a doctor. After shaking hands, Chloe shrugged. "So how can I help you?"

"Detective Gadwall with the Smallville PD," He said. "I read over the statements from last night."

Chloe shook her head. "I know every one of the Smallville detectives, all three of them. You aren't one of them."

"I just transferred in. Jefferson and his family moved to Metropolis to be closer to his wife's job. The commute was killing her," Gadwall said.

Chloe gnawed on her lip. It was true, Jefferson had been trying to land a spot on the Metropolis PD for some time, and she hadn't actually seen him in weeks. "Can I see your badge?"

The man cringed. "Actually, this is pretty embarrassing, but they haven't given me a badge yet. I have the number though, and you can call the station if it would make you feel better."

Chloe debated momentarily, but shrugged. He looked honest anyway. "That'll be okay. How can I help you?"

"First off, I'm not actually on your case. I was assigned to the Kent case from last night," Gadwall said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a little note pad.

"Kent case?" Chloe thought her heart was going to beat out of her chest. What had happened with the Kents? She could barely remember Clark by her bedside, holding her hand like a dutiful friend. Had something happened to him after leaving the hospital?

"I really didn't mean to scare you there. Everybody's fine. There was a disturbance over at the farm last night. A woman, description pretty close to what you gave us, made some wild threats at the Kent-boy, Clark. Nothing came of it really. Lex Luthor was out there and got himself a bit bruised up." Gadwall shrugged. "I guess I thought there might be a connection, all things considered: two disturbances in one night with similar perpetrators and in such a small town too."

"Sounds like a connection to me," Chloe said. Her reporter instincts kicked into gear and she actually smiled. "So what kind of information you got?"

* * *

After all the nonstop excitement, maybe it wasn't surprising that Clark missed the bus. He wasted entirely too much time explaining the mechanics behind the Kryptonium, well what he understood of the mechanics behind the Kryptonium. His parents didn't want to believe it was a reference tool, a library. Well they had reason to be worried, didn't they? He hadn't told them the truth about what had caused him to open the safely sealed lead box. They didn't know he'd taken the risk to see a couple formerly faceless people that weren't supposed to mean anything to him.

Dad had wanted him to stay close to home, but Clark had resisted. Skipping school was totally unappealing at the moment. He couldn't stand the thought of staying home and keeping up the lie. He'd had to claim three tests to get them to let him out the door. Why did he feel so guilty? He lied by omission every day of his life. He ought to be used to it.

"Not again." Technically he should probably be getting used to running into the figure blocking his path too. Clark came to a skidding stop in front of the Eradicator. She was smiling, and she dropped to her knees in front of him.

"It's time to leave, Kal-El," she said. "Come with me now."

Clark cringed and thanked his lucky stars that this encounter was happening en route to school instead of in homeroom. "Sorry, I'm not going anywhere." The Kryptonium had told him that the Eradicator wasn't supposed to be able to act without directions, so technically he should be able to tell her what to do. "My name is Clark. I want you to stop harassing me and my friends. Just, shut yourself off or whatever you do."

"That would not be in the best interest of Krypton. You can't stay here, Kal-El. I have the means to force you," the Eradicator said. "Must I force you?"

"Are you saying you're stronger than me? I thought you weren't going to hurt me?" Clark said. How strong was she? Would he be able to take her down?

"I won't ever hurt you." The Eradicator rose and caressed Clark's face. "I will eliminate the aboriginals you've become so attached to. Which should I start with? Chloe, Lana, Lex, Pete...or maybe your surrogate parents?"

It was a supreme act of will that stopped Clark from trying to knock this machine's head off. He wasn't allowed to get mad, never strike out in anger. He might hurt someone or at the very least expose the secret he was always hiding. Technically he hadn't broken that rule since kindergarten. "I won't let you hurt anyone." She was just a machine. He could hurt a machine. Clark threw an unbridled punch putting all his fear and disgust behind it.

"You can't stop me. You're too young, too weak." The Eradicator caught his fist and bent his arm backwards cruelly until the tendons strained and Clark dropped to his knees. "Will you come, or must I begin eliminating them?"

I can't stop her. She's too strong. I can't. Clark could see them, his parents, his friends at this insane machine's mercy. How did she know who those people were? How could she know who his closest friends and family were? "Please, no."

"Will you come?" The Eradicator betrayed no regret, remorse, or mercy with her monotone request. "Decide."

"Time, give me some time to think," Clark pleaded. It hurt, she was hurting him and he couldn't get away. Too strong... There had to be a way to fight her. He just needed enough time to figure it out.

"I gave you time to think and adjust, 7.63 hours to be exact. It is time to come or face the consequences."

"A day, give me one day," Clark hissed.

What matter a day? The Eradicator released his hand and nodded. "One rotation of this planet, then you will come."


	12. Chapter 11 Countdown

**-- Chapter 11 -- Countdown -- **

_"Live Each day as though it was your last – someday you'll be right." – Kathleen Norris_

* * *

**1 day – 24 hours – 1440 minutes – 86400 seconds **

* * *

On his knees, shoulders slumped, Clark tried not to dwell on the fact that he had given himself a single day to beat the unbeatable. Clark felt like his chest was tightening over his heart, and he struck out, burying his fists in the black earth. Relentlessly he pummeled the ground, as though it were the Eradicator. When a small bit of his frustration was vented Clark rose to his feet.

No school today after all, maybe no school ever again. Clark shook his head. This was no time to be negative. That thing didn't get to coerce him out of his life without a fight. He dropped his hand into his pocket and pulled out the little blue crystal, which had told him the small amount of information he had about the Eradicator.

"I need your help," Clark said. "Tell me how to defeat the Eradicator."

The Kryptonium sparkled to life and rose a few inches off Clark's hand. "Welcome Kal-El. The Eradicator model was never defeated in actual combat. As a Kryptonian, the Eradicator should yield to your command. Command her to stand down."

Clark shook his head and rubbed at the wrist the Eradicator had bowed back painfully. "She isn't listening to me. I told her to stand down and shut off. She just dictated her demands. Tell me something useful. Nothing is indestructible."

"The Eradicator was designed to be, as you say, indestructible."

"She's going to kill everyone if I don't do what she says. You have to know something that will help." The little crystal didn't offer any wisdom. It just hovered there glowing, waiting for another question. "Forget it," Clark said. He snatched the Kryptonium out of the air and took off for home. His parents needed to know what was happening. Maybe they'd be able to think of something he hadn't.

* * *

**0.96 days – 23.1 hours – 1386 minutes – 82944 seconds **

* * *

Early morning sun and the smell of coffee, Martha settled the last of the breakfast dishes into the dish water, but made no move to take her kitchen sponge up and start washing. Instead, she turned and crossed her arms over her chest. Jonathan was lingering over his last cup of coffee. It really wasn't like him to waste time over breakfast especially this time of year. There weren't enough hours in the day to get everything done as it was. She couldn't fault him for the slow startup really. She felt the same emotional drag. "So what's the plan for the day?"

Jonathan shrugged and finished his last swig of coffee. "Got to get that cellar door back on." Martha was just barely smiling at him leaned up against her counter. She looked so beautiful with the sun shining through her red hair, setting it on fire. Maybe she was tired and scared, but just seeing her gave him hope. It made him believe things worked out. "Maybe I'll take the combine up to the north pasture."

"That cellar door is awfully big and bulky. You shouldn't be lifting on it by yourself. Would you like some help with it?" Martha couldn't quite come out and say that she didn't want to be alone today.

"Alright, I'll run out to the shed and get some hinges and wood ready while you finish up in here," Jonathan said. He brought Martha his dishes and kissed her briefly. Sometimes it scared him how easily he understood his wife's signals. At the moment, he didn't much want to be alone either. Clark had set the tone by going to school though. They were having a normal day. The farm didn't know anything was out of the ordinary.

Jonathan stepped outside and let the screen door bang shut behind him. The temperature was already on the rise. It was going to be unpleasantly warm. A squeak from the right caught Jonathan's attention, and he paused on the steps.

"Dad."

Clark was sitting there in the porch swing, his head dropped nearly between his knees. Almost imperceptibly, he was rocking. "Clark? What happened? I thought you were going to school." Had the Eradicator returned? Was it something else? They should have taken that rock, Kryptonium away from him. That thing had probably done something.

Clark didn't look up. He was staring at something cupped in his hands. "We have a serious problem."

"You're going to have to be a little more specific. We seem to have half a dozen of those lately," Jonathan said. He took a seat next to Clark and wrapped an arm around his slumped shoulders. "Whatever happened, we'll figure it out."

"You really think so? I don't know how." How do you tell your parents that an ultimatum had been issued against their lives? How was he supposed to tell his dad that the only way he knew to keep him and his mom safe was to leave home? "The Eradicator threatened you, Mom, Chloe, Lana...everybody. If I don't go with her, she's going to start killing. She doesn't want to hurt me, just everyone I love." Clark turned the little blue piece of Kryptonium in rapid circles. He could feel his dad stiffen beside him. "I tried to fight her, but she was too strong. I have a day. Well she gave me a day. If I don't comply with her demands, she'll start the killing. So what do I do? I can't beat her, and I can't let her kill anyone." Clark turned and finally looked at his dad. "Tell me what to do."

Jonathan tightened his grip around his son. Clark looked so lost and scared and he wanted answers, direction. _The Eradicator threatened you, Mom, Chloe, Lana...everybody. If I don't go with her, she's going to start killing. _How do you fight evil? What were they supposed to do? "So we're rolling over and playing dead? How do you know you can't beat the Eradicator? You've tried to fight her once. She got the best of you that one time. She has a weakness. Everything has a weakness."

"I'm not rolling over. I'm scared. The Eradicator is an alien weapon. How do you think we're supposed to find her weaknesses? If that thing starts killing people, it'll be my fault," Clark said. "I can't let it come to that."

Jonathan took a deep breath and held it. What could they do? Clark wasn't strong enough to face this creature if the first encounter was any indication. If they ran away, it would start killing people. Even if he could live with the consequences of fleeing, Jonathan couldn't ask Clark or Martha to take on that responsibility. "What do you think the right thing to do is, Clark?"

Tears were blurring his vision but Clark blinked them back. "I think I have less than a day to get things in order. I don't want to have any regrets tomorrow."

With a blast of speed, Clark disappeared into the corn. Jonathan covered his face with a hand and hid his tears. He had never been a religious man. Jonathan believed in God. He'd just never been on speaking terms with him. This morning Jonathan prayed for inspiration, for answers, for a chance to save his son. "God, we need to talk..."

* * *

**0.93 days – 22.4 hours – 1344 minutes – 80640 seconds **

* * *

"If you don't let me go home, I will go insane," Chloe said. The angry tenor to her voice belied the broad smile on her face. "Please?"

The doctor, with his starched white lab coat and his delicate gold-rimmed glasses just smiled at her and flipped through her chart. "Ms. Sullivan, I can't release you without your father's signature. He'll be coming by after work to take you home. It's the rule."

"Can't be letting the crazy people out of the psych ward, right? You could at least move me to a less embarrassing section of the hospital. I can't stand the thought of visitors coming in here," Chloe moaned. "The whole school will be whispering about 'crazy Chloe'."

"I wouldn't worry too much about that," Clark said. "I haven't been spreading any rumors."

Chloe winced and smiled at the friend peeking his head around her hospital door. "Come on in Clark. This particular drone isn't willing to negotiate." She waved dismissively at the doctor.

Clark managed to force a smile onto his face. "I could bust you out of here?"

"And miss the Jell-o that's coming with lunch? Clark, I have grown quite fond of that lime green concoction," Chloe said sarcastically. She rolled her eyes dramatically and tucked her hair behind her ears. The doctor shook his head at the two teenagers and left with Chloe's chart.

"I see they're justified, keeping you in the psych ward then. Lime Jell-o? Need I shudder?" Clark's smile began to feel more comfortable on his face. Chloe had that effect on him. She always set him at ease.

"Hey, watch it. I am not crazy, at least not at the moment. Now, I have a few questions for you mister." Chloe glanced at the wall clock. "I won't start with why you're not in class, truant-one. Just, tell me about the whole incident last night, the girl who threatened you, every detail. I managed to finagle a peek at the police report, but I'd like to hear a first person account."

Clark's smile faded and he shrugged. "That came out of nowhere. You'd think spending time in the hospital would distance you a little more from all the action out in the world."

"A good reporter stays on top of these things. Now spill it. The police think the perpetrator that took a piece out of me is the same one who caused the trouble at your place. I own this story, Clark. Talk." Chloe pulled out her notepad and waited expectantly.

"Could this wait, at least until you get out of here? I don't much want to talk about it at the moment." What did he want to talk about? Why was he here? No regrets. Did that mean telling secrets? He could give her the scoop of the century. _I'm not ready to give up on my life and its requisite secrets though. _"I need you to do me a favor."

Chloe cocked her head to the side and frowned. "I'm the one in the hospital, and you need a favor? Okay, ask. I reserve the right to decline though." Clark looked awfully serious. Maybe he wasn't as okay as he'd been acting?

"Be safe. Don't take so many risks. Don't chase every meteor mutant that crawls out of the woodwork." Clark looked up and shrugged. "Try not to land in the hospital anymore."_ If I'm gone tomorrow, don't forget me._

"A reporter has to take risks." Chloe sighed. She couldn't be adamant when he was giving her the puppy-dog look. "I'll promise to try, after you give the interview about last night."

"No strings Chloe, I'll give you your interview tomorrow morning, baring tragedy. I want your word," Clark said. "Please."

Chloe looked away from Clark's earnest baby blues and sighed dramatically. "I promise to be more careful or at least try."

A smile spread over Clark's face as he tried to imagine Chloe actually being cautious. "At least try, eh? I can live with that." Clark glanced at the clock. Time was moving too quickly. "I'd better get going."

"Yeah, you're missing your education. Go to school," Chloe said. "And Clark, thanks for not spreading this particular hospital visit around and for being there yesterday."

"We're best friends. It's my job to be there."

* * *

**0.88 day – 21 hours – 1260 minutes – 75600 seconds **

* * *

Pete Ross just managed to pry his geometry book out from under the impressive clutter filling his locker. "I have got to clean this thing up." He slammed the locker and came face to face with, Clark. "Hey man, didn't you get the memo? Classes are starting at eight now. The teachers are taking roll and everything."

Clark winced and nodded. "Yeah I'll have to work on that. So you want to be a delinquent with me? How about skipping geometry?"

"To do what?" Pete asked. "I have to make an A in that class." It was strange. Clark never seemed to have time for him anymore. Now, all of a sudden, he was trying to drag him off like they were bosom buddies.

"I guess I just wanted to talk." Clark frowned and stared hard at the clock in the hall. It wasn't fair for him to drag Pete off right now. It was selfish and Pete had every right to just walk off. "I sort of need to talk."

"After school we can talk. Scratch that, I have practice. I suggest you get to class, and don't forget your sociology outline for this afternoon. Mrs. Pringles will so dock you ten percent if you don't have it." Pete shot Clark a wave and made his way into class. Once safely in his usual seat, Pete regretted walking away. I wasn't fair! He shouldn't feel guilty for actually going to class. Clark had seemed sort of stressed, desperate. He's your friend Pete, and you blew him off. Well, Clark was getting a taste of his own medicine. Pete had been blown off enough to last a lifetime. They'd just see how much Clark liked getting ignored.

He could always make nice tomorrow.

* * *

**0.87 days – 20.8 hours – 1248 minutes – 74880 seconds **

* * *

Clark leaned against a bank of lockers as the hall emptied. Well, he was batting 500. Pete was annoyed. That wasn't the note he had intended to leave. Well he'd just have to find a way to be there tomorrow and apologize. His dad was right. He'd only ever thrown one punch at the Eradicator. Maybe it wasn't as hopeless as it felt? He just wished the memory of her strength wasn't still so fresh in his mind.

One hard look at the wall clock and Clark's started walking. There were still loose ends, and he was wasting time.

* * *

**0.79 day – 19.1 hours – 1146 minutes – 68760 seconds **

* * *

An immense bed, set atop a small dais, was illuminated by floor to ceiling French windows. Under crimson silk sheets Lex Luthor lay motionless, not sleeping. Lounging around in bed until nearly lunch wasn't his style, but Lex couldn't seem to motivate himself to head down and deal with the crap factory today. For one thing, he was sore. The Eradicator thing wasn't weak and she had managed to get two good licks in on him. Physical discomfort wasn't keeping him in bed though.

The night before, he had collapsed into bed, his mind in turmoil. Smallville was like a mystery novel, or a jigsaw puzzle. There were always new pieces coming to light, but Lex couldn't seem to put any of them together. Yesterday's addition to the jumble of facts, the Eradicator, hadn't shed a great deal of light on the mess that was Smallville. Another freak in the freak show, she was hardly of interest at all except for the threat she posed. It wasn't the Eradicator that had him staring at the inlaid wood design of his ceiling pondering. So what did?

"Mr. Luthor, I know you are never to be disturbed in your bedroom," a pencil thin brunet with tired pinched lips said. "But you also left strict orders that you were to be notified when Clark Kent came to visit. Mr. Kent has been waiting for nearly an hour and he was about to leave, so I decided to disturb you."

Sometimes Lex wished that the doors around his home creaked. He sighed and threw the covers back. "Your only mistake was taking nearly an hour to notify me." It was a real hassle training new staff. "You won't make that mistake again. Send Clark up."

"Yes sir."

Lex stepped into the privacy of his dressing room. He decided to forego his morning shower for the moment and selected a nice anonymous black suit. He barely winced as the fabric slid over his swollen arm. Still buttoning his navy blue linen shirt he stepped back out in his sock feet. "Clark, many apologies for keeping you waiting."

"Hey Lex, it's not a problem." _You just wasted five percent of my day. _"I figured you were in some important meeting. Never really thought you were the type to sleep in."

Lex straightened his jacket and smirked at Clark in the mirror. "Generally, you'd be correct. I never figured you for the type to skip school either, but here we are two days in a row."

Clark shrugged. "I have parental sanction. They thought it might be a good idea to take a day off after all the excitement last night. Are you feeling okay? I know the Eradicator tried to wring your arm off."

"I'm fine," Lex said. He flexed his arm for emphasis. "So, I'm guessing this isn't just a social call. What can I do for you?"

"Honestly, I came to ask you a favor," Clark said.

That gave Lex pause. Actually asking for a favor? It wasn't like Clark to ask for anything. Maybe that's why Lex was always offering him things.

"I guess you start thinking when you land your first real stalker." _You **really **start thinking when you have less than twenty hours left on earth. _"It sounds stupid, just saying it. If anything happened to me, would you look after my parents. I know my dad never has trusted you, but he's wrong. There isn't anyone else I trust enough to ask this."

"Not much of a favor, because you're fine and you're going to stay fine. I understand you might be a little disturbed, but this is no time to be putting your affairs in order," Lex said. "Now first off, the Eradicator has a rather short attention span. She came after me first then she switched her attentions to you. She'll probably be stalking Whitney Fordman tomorrow."

Clark didn't respond. What could he say? The Eradicator wouldn't be switching her attentions again because she'd found the extraterrestrial. He should probably just agree, but he couldn't bring himself to tell the outright lie. "But if something did happen..."

"If something happened, I'd take care of your parents as though they were my own." Lex laughed and shook his head. "I take that back. You know what I meant though. Whether your dad wanted the help or not, I'd find a way."

"Thank you." Clark smiled and this time it wasn't forced. "I apologize for being so morbid and for asking you such a big thing."

Lex smiled back and slapped Clark on the back. "Stop dwelling on the worst possible scenario. You're going to be fine. Now, how do you think your dad would feel about me sending some security out to the farm, just until this all blows over?"

"I don't think he'd be thrilled. I would recommend you save them the round trip." Clark tugged at this coat and looked Lex in the eyes. _You trust him enough to ask him to look after your parents, but he doesn't get to know what you are. _It seemed wrong to Clark, but telling secrets was the same thing as giving up and he wasn't technically doing that yet. "My mom is probably ready to ream me out for staying gone so long."

Lex let Clark outdistance him down the stairs and he stopped halfway down. "Be safe, Clark."

"I'm going to be fine," Clark said. "Right?" _Now if I can keep everyone else safe without having to vacate the planet. _

Lex stared at his closed front door and tried to make sense of the bit of information, which had kept him thinking all morning. The Kents were liars, practically professional. Jonathan and Martha Kent had lied to the police as though they lied every day of their lives. If his instincts were to be trusted, they lied to him. Another piece to the "Smallville puzzle," but this was a section of said puzzle that Clark had asked him to leave well enough alone.

Clark was his friend. He gave Lex his life back.

"I hate a mystery." You couldn't make intelligent decisions without understanding the puzzle you were manipulating. How was he supposed to look out for Clark and his family when he had no idea what they were hiding?

* * *

**0.65 day – 15.7 hours – 942 minutes – 56520 seconds **

* * *

"Nell, have you seen my clean apron?" Lana called. She wrapped her hair into a ponytail and continued searching for the missing garment. "I'm going to be late." She glanced at the clock, 3:30.

"You aren't going to be late. I'm the manager and I excuse you," Nell said. She tossed the clean little apron to her niece with a smile.

"You saved my life." Lana grinned and hugged her aunt tight. Cheerleading had been less stressful and time consuming, but helping run the Talon was more rewarding. Nell seemed to finally be coming around about it all. "Can I catch a ride in with you?"

"Sure, I'll meet you at the car. Just let me grab my purse," Nell said.

Lana pushed her way out onto the porch and almost stumbled over a lone vase with a flower. Frowning, she crouched down to examine the out of place blossom. It was a wild flower, apricot blossom unless she missed her guess. A purple head, delicate and round with hundreds of narrow petals rising together from their point of convergence, rested perfectly on a pale green vine. There wasn't a card and no one was around. Maybe Whitney had left it? That wasn't really his style though. He would have come in and taken credit for the present.

Lana held the simple glass vase and smelled the flower, pungent not really sweet, but it was pretty.

Not far away, in the trees Clark sat and with his exceptional vision watched Lana find his flower. It hadn't been his initial plan, to pick a flower and leave it. He had been going to stay behind and tell Lana how much the delicate purple blossom reminded him of her. He had been going to tell her how beautiful she was and that he valued their friendship. He'd even considered mentioning the L-word.

Clark hadn't done it though. He was sitting out here playing the voyeur. How can you love someone you can't even consistently talk to? Chloe would laugh at him and tell him how pathetic he was. Lex would tell him he should have brought more flowers or maybe offer some wisdom or more likely a pair of concert tickets.

"I think I might love you, Lana Lang. Here's hoping I get the chance to figure it out."

* * *

**0.61 days – 14.6 hours – 876 minutes – 52560 seconds **

* * *

Martha snuggled close to Jonathan and tried to draw strength from his presence. They'd been waiting for hours, waiting for Clark to return. After hearing the news about the ultimatum the Eradicator had issued, Martha had panicked. First she'd been angry and scared and that turned into energy. It was a small wonder there wasn't a trench worn in her kitchen floor. After a while she just felt exhausted, like the entire world was sitting on her shoulders. She'd joined Jonathan on the porch swing. He had held her and petted her. He whispered important things: it was going to be okay; they weren't going to lose Clark.

"Mom, Dad."

Martha sat up and all the fog fled her mind. "Clark, what do you mean disappearing all day? Are you okay?"

"I'm..." Clark had been going to say fine. That had been his line all day. These were the two people he didn't have to lie to though. "I'm so scared." That was all the encouragement his parents needed. His mom wrapped him in a tight hug and his dad was at his side. "I didn't mean to worry you guys. I just needed to do some things. I went to see Chloe and Pete and Lex. Then I did every chore I could think of. The south pasture is fenced. I know I should have checked in, told you guys not to worry."

"You should have," Jonathan said. "It's okay though." Being angry with Clark just wasn't possible at the moment.

Martha stepped back and nodded. "We don't have a lot of time. We need to figure out how we're going to beat the Eradicator."

Clark looked down and frowned. "I've already decided how to handle this. It's my fight and I get to decide."

Martha nodded, and her hand slipped into Jonathan's. Clark had already figured out how to handle the Eradicator. That was a relief.

"I'm going to leave with her."


	13. Chapter 12 Hope and Faith

**-- Chapter 12 -- Hope and Faith -- **

_I'm going to leave with her. _

When your world ends, you shouldn't be able to keep standing. You shouldn't keep breathing in and out. Your heart most certainly shouldn't keep beating. Martha felt Jonathan's arm wrap around her shoulders even as her knees went weak. The fear and the dread, which first filled her after meeting the Eradicator felt like it was growing and swelling, suffocating her. "Clark, that's not the answer," Martha whispered. Clark was standing there, crying. He had more than a foot of height on her but he was still her baby.

"We don't get to decide this," Jonathan said. It broke his heart to say it, to let Clark decide his own fate, but it was the right thing. He'd been running through his son's options all day, and he couldn't offer him any better solutions. "I don't want to give up, but it isn't my decision, and it isn't yours Martha."

Martha pushed Jonathan's arm away and stared accusingly at him. Traitor. Heartless. What was wrong with him? "Clark isn't going anywhere with that thing. We'll leave." Martha took Clark by the arm and tried to pull him toward the truck. It was like trying to uproot a tree.

"If I ran away, she'd kill everyone. Then she'd find us and she'd kill you and Dad and anyone else with the misfortune to know me," Clark said. "I can't live with those consequences." Clark pulled out a crumpled sheet of notepaper and folded it into his dad's hand._ Read this, _Clark mouthed silently,_ She's listening. _"I need a minute, so I'm going over to my loft and I'm going to look at the stars. I guess we could have dinner or something..." Clark turned and walked away. He couldn't stand there and watch his parents hurt. He was hurting them, breaking their hearts. Better to break their hearts now than watch the Eradicator kill them later. They needed to read his note and try to understand.

Martha shook her head and started off the porch after Clark, but Jonathan grabbed her by the arm. "Let go of me. Don't touch me!" Martha hissed. "How could you say that? I won't let him go. I don't care if you're going to help me or not."

"He needs us now, Martha. He needs us to understand and be strong." Jonathan held up the sheet of paper covered in Clark's flat winding scrawl. "We need to understand." This wasn't how their relationship was supposed to work. He was the hothead. Martha was supposed to keep him calm and centered. Jonathan pulled Martha roughly to his side, despite her struggles and whispered in her ear. "The Eradicator is listening. Clark didn't want to say this where she could hear." He rattled the paper for emphasis. Martha went limp against him and nodded. "Let's go inside," Jonathan said.

Martha tried to digest what she was hearing. So Clark wasn't giving up, but he didn't want to Eradicator to hear what he was planning. _The Eradicator was listening. _That thought sent shivers racing up and down Martha's arms. That thing was close enough to hear their every word.

Jonathan hadn't released her arm, as if she might still duck and run after Clark. "I'm okay, Jonathan. I'm calm." As soon as he released her arm, she took a seat at the kitchen table. "Let's see it."

Jonathan spread the paper between them and joined Martha at the table.

_Mom and Dad, _

_I stopped to write this, because the Eradicator has been following me pretty close. She listens to every word out of my mouth, and I don't want her to hear what I'm planning. _

_First off, I meant it, what I said about going with the Eradicator. I don't feel that I have much of a choice right now, but I am NOT giving up. You see the Eradicator does have a weakness, and I think I've figured it out. She's a machine and should listen to commands from me. She's an old machine though, and her AI doesn't work right anymore. If I do what she wants and learn how to be what she thinks I'm supposed to be, maybe she'll start taking my orders. I just have to play along until the Eradicator starts working right. _

_Now, I still have a few hours before my forced exit, so let's not waste it discussing the Eradicator or what's going to happen tomorrow morning. I'm not going to change my mind, so don't try to talk me out of this. _

_Love, _

_Clark _

Martha read through the letter three times before she came to her feet. "Well Jonathan, this is not a good plan. We can't let this happen. Do I go talk some sense into him, or do you?"

"I don't like it either, but I don't have any better ideas," Jonathan said. "We have to respect his decision. You remember telling me that we had to trust Clark. Well I trust him and I think he can handle this situation if we give him time. Are you going to respect his wishes and leave this be Martha?"

"I love him too much Jonathan. I can't..." Martha slapped her counter open handed and shook her head vigorously. "What if he can't find his way home again?"

"We love him and he loves us. He'll find his way home again."

* * *

Clark stared off into the night from the edge of his loft. A cloudless evening without a moon, it was the perfect time for stargazing, but he made no move to use his telescope. "Eradicator! I know you're out there. I want to talk, now." A rush of wind and a streak of black marked the Eradicator's entrance. She consistently came when called anyway, even if she wouldn't do anything else he said.

"You called, Kal-El. Would you like to depart early then?" the Eradicator said. She was grinning and took two steps toward her master. She could smell him and see every molecule in him. A new sensation was running wild in her neural net, an intoxicating heat. A compulsion to touch her master encouraged her to take another step toward him.

Clark took a step back and shook his head. "I thought you'd want to know that I'm coming with you. You don't need to make any more demonstrations of your power or to hurt anyone else, seven o'clock in the corn, agreed."

The Eradicator nodded and tried to clear the fog of noise swirling through her neural processes. The information she'd collected from Chloe Sullivan was bleeding through and over her logic circuits like a virus. This was no time for another diagnostic review. She couldn't waste the time. She was not going to descend completely into irrationality now. She was stronger than this. "7 a.m."

* * *

Clark didn't know what to expect behind the kitchen door. Would his parents confront him on his plan or would they ignore it like he'd asked? Would they understand his need to protect them? They'd spent their whole lives protecting him. Surely they could understand his desire to protect them.

One deep breath and Clark headed in. Warm and bright with the smell of stroganoff, his mom was just setting a steaming bowl on the table and his dad was placing the silverware. It was all just like it should be, normal and calm. No one was trying to change his mind, at least not yet._ Thank you for giving me this time. Thank you for not fighting my decision. _"Smells great Mom."

"It came out of the deep freeze. You liked it the first time," Martha said.

A meal that should have been a strained and uncomfortable affair somehow wasn't. They talked about corn and school and the possibility of a new disk for the tractor. They talked about useless things like Clark's longstanding hatred of cooked carrots and the fish they'd caught over the years. Dinner flew by.

Martha stared at the empty dish at the center of her table and wondered what was going to happen now. It had felt good to just sit and eat and pretend to be a normal family without anything hanging over their heads. Now did they get to cry? Was it time to say goodbye? They'd been laughing just moments before but then the tears started. Once they began, she couldn't contain them.

"Mom," Clark said. She was crying because of him. He should say something. This was his fault. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault, baby. I just need to breathe," Martha whispered. She stood and headed for the backdoor.

Clark's first instinct was to follow, but his dad shook his head. "Give her a minute. She's trying to be strong for you. Let her get it out."

"I know she is. I don't want to hurt Mom or you. I'm trying to keep you safe," Clark said. "This is the only way to keep you safe."

"That's what's killing her. It's killing me too." Jonathan reached across the table and held Clark's hand. "I believe in you. You're going to come through this, and we'll be here when you do."

"Thank you for that." Clark pulled his hand back and stared at his empty plate. There was one last loose end, and now was as good a time as any to get it out of the way. "Will you do something for me Dad?"

Jonathan almost laughed. There was something he could actually do? "Anything in my power."

"I know you don't trust him and you never liked the idea that we were friends," Clark said. "Please look after Lex. You might think he doesn't need it, but he does. I'm the only person I know of that he considers a friend, and he doesn't have any real family."

Anything but that, Jonathan almost said. Clark really wasn't asking much. He wanted him to look out for his friend, his friend the 'Luthor'. "I'll try."

Clark knew how large the favor was he'd just asked. It asked his dad to go against every instinct he possessed. He was asking him to look past Lionel and see Lex. "Thank you."

"It isn't a lot to ask," Jonathan said. "It won't be for long either, right?"

"Right." _I hope. _"That's it. All my ducks are in a row. I'm ready. So what do we do for the next twelve hours or so?" Clark tried not to show his dad how scared he was. He tried to tame his fear, to hide it.

"God, I don't know. I'd say a good night's sleep is out of the question. I guess we can go out there with your mother and wait for sun to come up."

* * *

The crimson light of twilight greeted the Eradicator when she first entered the world. It was symmetrical that the dawn of her departure was equally red and heavy. Rain was coming. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered but her master and her mission, and for once that was on track. If she could just get him into transit, she could purge her system and run a comprehensive diagnostic.

So close, she could see him embracing his surrogate parents. He was really coming and of his own free will. That was a slight exaggeration. At least she wasn't dragging him by his ear. He was moving slowly, unconsciously matching the pace of the creatures he lived with. Finally, finally, finally, he was in the corn, still moving so slowly.

"Come Kal-El. Come home."

* * *

Through the green sea of corn, moving slow and steady, Clark wouldn't let himself look back. His parents were there behind him and if he saw home, he wouldn't be able to take another step. He'd said that he was satisfied, that things were in order for him to disappear for a little while, but it wasn't true. A thousands things that he should have done and said came crashing down on him. He shouldn't have let Pete walk away. What if he never saw him again? He'd left lies between himself and his best friends. What if he never got the chance to tell them the truth?

"Kal-El, can you fly?"

Turning slowly, Clark faced his demon, his Eradicator. She didn't look beautiful to him. Her eyes were soulless and dead. She had threatened everything he loved. A calmness settled over him. Where had his fear gone? She was just a machine. He could beat her, maybe not with his fists and maybe not today. _I'm not afraid of you. _"No, I don't fly."

"Today we run then. Follow me."

Clark wasn't taken off guard when the Eradicator took off at top speed. He'd seen how she could move. He just did his best to keep pace. All too soon he was standing in front of a shiny teardrop shaped ship. It was a lot like his ship in the cellar only more smooth and streamlined. "Seems kind of small," Clark said. "We'll both fit in that?"

"Appearances are often deceptive," the Eradicator said.

Clark didn't see how she activated it, but the ship began to glow with a yellow light and a doorway seemed to mould itself out of the very metal. Clark took a couple of cautious steps toward the opening and peered inside. A cavernous expanse, the room was so large he couldn't see to the other side without refocusing his eyes. "How is this possible?"

"I'm not a scientist. I'm a weapon," the Eradicator said. She pushed Kal-El forward and followed him inside. "Prepare yourself for lift off. We are departing."

Clark spun slowly. This was impossible.

* * *

The phone in the Kent's kitchen rested safely in its cradle, Martha's hand wrapped around it. How was she going to hold it together for the police? "I made the call to the police. They're coming."

Jonathan nodded and tried to wrap his arm around Martha, but she pushed him away. He needed her now. Why wasn't she turning to him? "It's the right thing. This way Clark's disappearance is documented. When he comes home, everyone will call it a miracle, but they won't question it."

Martha felt so weary like her hands and feet weighed a hundred pounds each. She didn't want Jonathan to hold her and pretend that it was all going to be okay. "I think we're out of miracles, Jon. I'm going to bed. I can't face the police."_ I can't look at you and your hope that I can't seem to feel. _"I need to be alone." She walked away, aware abstractly of the pain she inflicted on Jonathan by that action, but unable to change her course. "Please just leave me alone."

Up the stairs, but not past Clark's room, Martha paused and stared. A teenager's bedroom, just twelve years earlier it had been a toddler's room.

_A little boy with bright blue eyes and unruly black curls stared out from under a patchwork quilt. _

_"Clark, you've been talking so good today," Martha said. She had a baby, hers for the last six months. It seemed so unreal. "You're learning so much so fast. I'm so proud of you." _

_"Dank you Mommy," Clark said. He pulled the covers up to his nose shyly. _

_"I want to teach you something that my mommy taught me. We said it every night when I was little before I went to sleep. Would you like to learn it, Clark?" Clark nodded his head vigorously and stared up at her rapt. "Okay then. I'll say it first then we'll say it together. Ready?" _

_"Now I lay me down to sleep... Now I lay me down to sleep.  
I pray the Lord my soul to keep... I pray the Lord my soul to keep.  
If I should die before I wake... If I should die before I wake.  
I pray the Lord my soul to take... I pray the Lord my soul to take" _

_"Mommy, what's a Lord and why does he want my soul?" Clark asked. _

Martha jumped at the sound of the doorbell. The police of course, they were faster than night before last. She continued into Clark's room and shut the door gently. She pulled down the covers on his bed and let his scent surround her. Her baby was gone, maybe forever. Drowning in a thousand memories, Martha wept and grieved, but she didn't pray. Prayer required a degree of hope and faith, two emotions Martha had lost touch with when Clark disappeared into the corn.


	14. Chapter 13 Ripples

**-- Chapter 13 -- Ripples -- **

"Welcome home Kal-El."

The Eradicator seemed to finally be in her element. Her black body suit and cool demeanor fit with this ship's sterile white interior and black accents._ This isn't home. _At least liftoff had been smooth. Honestly, Clark hadn't felt a thing. A civilization that could build a telephone booth size ship, which held a couple of coliseums worth of space, ought to be able to take the teeth rattling part out of escaping a planet's gravity. "How long do we have to lounge around this 'lovely ship' and stare at each other?"

"Six months in transit," the Eradicator said. "You have a lot to learn in that time. To begin, you will master galactic standard. It's a language. When I complete my self-diagnostic we will continue from there."

She wanted him to master a language, by himself. Exactly how long did her diagnostics last? "How long will you be out of commission?" Maybe this was the chance he'd been waiting for? He could find a way to take her out while she was repairing herself. It was too perfect.

"I will be unavailable to you for approximately one Earth week. The Kryptonium will aid you in your studies," the Eradicator said. A smile tugged at her lips. _You see a weakness do you? Control that excitement. _Her Master was quite transparent. He wore his emotions on his face. He hadn't given up on his life on Earth. Any opening she offered, he would use against her. Well, she would leave no openings.

"You think I can learn a language in a week?" Clark said._ More likely, I'll learn how to take you apart in a week. _

"I will hold you to Kryptonian standards, Kal-El. You are not human. I will not underestimate you."

* * *

Like a mini-tornado, Chloe Sullivan tore through the torch office scattering papers and turning over piles.

"Whoa girl." Pete just missed catching a stapler to the head by ducking back behind the door he had been entering. "You trying to kill me?"

Chloe barely paused to glare at Pete. "Maria turned in her column yesterday, supposedly, but I can't find it, and we have no front page thanks to Clark Kent! Is the world out to get me, or am I just losing my mind. On second thought, don't answer that." Chloe dropped into her desk chair and sighed. "This week couldn't get any worse."

Pete shook his head and took the seat opposite Chloe in her office. What had Clark done to upset her now? Maybe avoiding her was why he wasn't in school today. "You needed Clark for the front page this week? He's been pretty flaky lately, skipping classes three days in a row. I wouldn't think a poor attendance record would make your front page though."

"Trust me, Pete. There's a story here. You'll get to read all about it in the Torch." Chloe grabbed her book sack and headed for the door.

"Where are you going? What about the paper? Is it coming out tomorrow?" Pete asked.

"I'm going to get the interview Clark promised me, and then I'm going to spend the rest my evening making this paper come together," Chloe said.

"Wait up, I'm coming too." Pete's curiosity was peaked. Clark had wanted to talk yesterday, and now Chloe wanted to put him on the front page. Something was definitely up.

* * *

Lex ran his index finger along one of a long line of figures spread across his desk and tried to stay focused. This afternoon was dedicated to finding a shade of green in the rows of red he kept getting from the factory spreadsheets.

"Mr. Luthor, a Detective Gadwall to see you."

Lex stared at his intercom and sighed. Gadwall, the detective who'd come out to the Kent farm following their interlude with the Eradicator. He couldn't exactly tell him to come back when he finished his spreadsheet. Maybe they'd arrested the psycho responsible for his sore arm. That would be a nice surprise to end the day on. "Send him in," Lex said. He leaned back in his chair and waited while his visitor strolled into his office. The furnishings were ostentatious from the intricate Oriental rug to the Ming vase resting on an finely varnished end table. It was designed to intimidate, to rattle. From the wide-eyed look on Gadwall's face, the room was having the desired effect.

"Detective, good to see you. How can I be of assistance?" Lex said. He rose and politely offered Gadwall his hand.

"Mr. Luthor, I know you're a busy man, so I'll make this quick. Have you had any further contact with the young lady who attacked you the other night?" Gadwall asked. He seemed to grow steady after Lex's handshake.

"If I had, I would of course have contacted the police," Lex said. "I take it you haven't made an arrest." Re-questioning so soon? How involved in this did the police think he was?

"No, no arrest, but this should be hitting the news wire soon. We have a new problem. The Kent boy went missing last night. His parents called in this morning. We need to find this perp fast. Any information you think of, call in right away."

Christ, Clark had wandered through his office just the day before setting his affairs in order. Now he was missing? Lex tensed his hands into fists. This town, its meteors and mysteries, swallowed people whole. Well it didn't get to swallow Clark Kent, his friend. Lex changed the things he didn't like. "I don't have to tell you that I'll do whatever it takes to help this investigation. If at any time the department thinks a reward might help, I'd be glad to put up the capital."

Gadwall nodded. "I'm sure I speak for everyone when I say, we appreciate your cooperation, but a reward would be jumping the gun. It hasn't even been twenty-four hours, and Clark is a teenager. We're taking this very seriously because of the incident on the farm, but this definitely isn't the time to panic. We'll be in touch."

Lex watched the detective walk away and he shook his head. At least the police were looking already, a real perk to living in Smallville. In Metropolis teenagers were disappearing every ten seconds and reappearing within a week. Searching didn't really get serious until it was too late in the situations where it mattered. Well it mattered today, and Lex wasn't going to just leave this to the Smallville PD.

* * *

Chloe slammed the door to her Dad's car and stalked her way up to the Kent's front door. Clark was probably out in some field digging up corn or whatever they did during harvest season. Well, he didn't get to blow her off that easy. She'd just sit on his doorstep until he came home.

"Chloe, would you wait up," Pete said. "Clark will still be there in ten seconds."

Three hard raps to the front door, and Chloe crossed her arms to wait. This boy had a lot of nerve, promising her an exclusive interview and then not even coming to school. He could have sent her a message, called her cell phone. She knocked again. Wasn't anyone home? She checked the doorknob. "Open. I'm going in."

"In? You can't just go in Chloe. That's highly rude," Pete said.

"It's rude to stand a person up too." Chloe released the handle. She wasn't going to be rude by barging into the Kent's house. What was wrong with her? Clark might be able to help her find out what had happened to her in the woods, that was what was wrong. He could maybe show her what had screwed with her mind. "Sorry, that was stupid. I'll wait on the porch."

Pete sighed and nodded. Chloe wasn't acting like herself today. Normally, she was quick to give Clark the benefit of the doubt, but not today. "That's a little more reasonable."

The sound of something clomping through the nearby field of corn brought Chloe up short before she could take a seat. "Did you hear that? Something's out there." A strange feeling, like she used to get when she was little and watching Twilight Zone reruns bubbled up in Chloe. There was something out there. Was it the thing that had attacked her? Maybe it had done something to the Kents. The anger she'd been nursing toward Clark shifted quickly to concern and fear. _It's not even dark out and you're looking for boogey-men. _

"Hey, is that you, Clark? Mr. Kent?" Pete headed down off the porch and toward the sound.

Chloe's first instinct was to hang back. Lord, she really was still rattled. _Be brave girl. _Chloe took a deep steadying breath and followed Pete down to the field. What they found among those gently waving stalks couldn't have shocked her more if it had been the lady who attacked her. "Mr. Kent? Are you okay?"

Jonathan Kent, unconscious or nearly so was sprawled across a half dozen stalks of corn. Pete dropped to his knees and touched the older man's face lightly. His lip curled back in disgust and Pete waved at the fumes coming off Mr. Kent. "He's pickled."

"Are you kidding? It's five in the afternoon, and Mr. Kent doesn't drink." Chloe joined Pete on her knees. Pungent and sharp, it almost smelled like a cheesy version of the ethanol they used in lab. "This is bizarre."

"No this is cheap whiskey," Pete said. He held up a little brown bottle he'd pried out of Mr. Kent's hand. "Let's get him to the house. We can't just leave him here."

It was with a strange hobble and jerk that Chloe and Pete managed to drag Jonathan back to the house. This time Pete didn't dissent when Chloe pushed the front door open. "Mrs. Kent? Anyone home?" Pete called.

"Come on, the couch," Chloe said with a grunt.

After they had him settled, Chloe dropped to the floor and tried to catch her breath. "You get that coat off of him. I'm going to make some coffee."

"Martha?" Jonathan whispered. "God, just talk to me. I need you to talk to me."

Pete jumped back. He'd never seen Clark's dad like this. Mr. Kent was always so steady and calm, well unless he was riled. He'd never seen him drunk before. "It's Pete, Mr. Kent and Chloe. Where's Mrs. Kent, or Clark. You need help."

"She's upstairs, but she won't come out. I tried, after the police left, but she wouldn't even talk to me. I could hear her, crying. She's locked in his room, and I need her," Jonathan whispered. His words were hardly slurred but he was crying now.

Chloe and Pete exchanged a long look. Police? Mrs. Kent had locked herself in a room upstairs? "Where's Clark?" Chloe asked.

"Clark's gone," Jonathan whispered. "I have to get to Martha. She needs me even if she can't see it. I need her."

"What do you mean, Clark's gone? Gone fishing? Gone to the field?" Pete had a sinking suspicion that he didn't want to know what Jonathan meant by gone, but he had to know. Was Clark okay?

Chloe felt like her world stopped turning when Jonathan said those two little words. Clark's gone. Nausea washed through her and she willed herself to not believe it. What would have Jonathan Kent drunk at five in the afternoon and Martha locked in a room upstairs. Was Clark... dead? No! Maybe he was lost somewhere out there, confused like she'd been.

"He was just trying to protect us," Jonathan whispered. "That thing, whatever she was. She was just too strong. He'll make it back though. Clark's tough and persistent. We have to have faith." Jonathan took Chloe's hand and patted it. "I believe it's going to be okay." His breathing slowed and Jonathan slipped back into unconsciousness.

Chloe stared at Mr. Kent, willing him to start talking again. "I have to find out what happened. I'm going to the police station. He said they had the police out here," Chloe said. "Will you stay with him?"

Pete nodded slowly. Mr. Kent was out cold. He could stay with him until he woke up again. There probably wasn't much point to the vigil, but it felt better than doing nothing. "You find out anything, you call me," Pete said. Chloe was already half-way out the door, but she nodded. Pete turned back to Mr. Kent and blinked back a film of tears.

Clark couldn't be gone. Pete never got the chance to apologize. Fear, desperation, Pete hadn't been imagining things in that hall. Clark had been scared. Why had he blown him off? It had seemed so trivial at the time.

* * *

_**The Torch – Special Edition **_

_**Missing: Another Smallville High Student Lost  
By Chloe Sullivan **_

_Do you know Clark Kent? Most of you do. This isn't a huge high school and he's hard to miss. Clark is the tall dark haired freshman. You remember. He ran for class president. Maybe that doesn't help. It isn't like he won. He doesn't play football, run track, or any of those cool athletic things people get noticed for._

_But you know him. He's the guy who always lends you his notes, or who takes the time to teach you that algebra problem you just can't get. He's that tall guy who always smiles and waves, even though you're not that great of friends, even when he hardly knows you._

_Clark is an ordinary guy, but he's a good guy._

_Today I want to ask you all to do something for Clark. You see, this good guy, my best friend in the world, went missing last night. Some unidentified crazed person may or may not have harmed or kidnapped him. I want to ask you all to look. Open your eyes and be aware. Help find Clark Kent._

_He'd do it for you._

* * *

Chloe watched silently as the printer spewed copies of the simple one page edition of the Torch. Unshed tears pooled in her eyes but she wouldn't let them fall. She'd been so angry this morning when Clark hadn't shown up for their interview. "I guess you had an excuse," Chloe whispered. The tears she'd been fighting to contain finally fell. "We'll find you. The Smallville PD doesn't have a clue, but I'm going to see Lex tomorrow. He'd do anything for the guy who saved his life. I think maybe with my journalistic skills, and your friend's resources, this could work out. It has to work out because we need you here. Your parents are a wreck." Chloe bit her lip and shook her head. "No this is selfish. You see I need you. I never got the chance to tell you, what I felt, what I might have felt... Besides, you still owe me an interview."


	15. Chapter 14 MIA

**-- Chapter 14 -- MIA -- **

A little black Timex with its cheap plastic band and digital display rested incongruously next to a simple bit of blue alien rock. Clark Kent stared at them, his two most valuable possessions. One week ago today, he'd been standing in a field full of corn in the sun less than five minutes from home. He'd had the whole world.

Clark took up the watch and stared at the immutable numbers, willing them to flash forward and end the week he'd spent alone. The first day hadn't passed slowly. He'd had plans. The Eradicator was going down. Clark laughed. It had taken most of that first day to discover, he wasn't going to find her. She either anticipated his attack or maybe she always hid herself away when running a diagnostic. Either way, it didn't matter.

It had been a whole week with no one and nothing for company, excluding the little rock in front of him. Clark found himself actually working on his lessons far more than he'd planned. Galactic Standard wasn't hard as languages went. The Eradicator would probably be pleased. Talking to a rock/library wasn't the same as having a real conversation though, and Clark had never really been alone, at least not that he could remember. There had always been his parents and his friends.

Clark closed his eyes and tried to imagine what everyone would be doing back at home. Chloe, all smiles and journalistic fire would be on the bus, making mental plans about the upcoming edition of the Torch. Pete would be there with her, but they wouldn't be betting on whether he'd make the bus or not. It had been a week. Clark Kent had been missing for a week. That usually meant dead._ They probably think I'm never coming back. _That thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. His friends had to go on with their lives though. If they went on with the assumption that he was gone, it was his own fault. He could have told them the truth.

Would his parents be okay? They knew everything that was going on and they had each other. He had asked Lex to look after them and for them to look after him in return. Was that working out? Clark tried to imagine a Kent family dinner with Lex over to visit. The image was almost as ludicrous as Lex driving fence posts or shucking corn.

At least they were all safe. Getting home as soon as possible might take more time than he'd hoped, but Clark didn't regret his decision. "At least they're safe." Clark said the words in the language he'd learned, just to break the silence. "Hearing your own voice is better than nothing, right?"

"I am overdue. I apologize, Kal-El." The Eradicator moved with carefully programmed grace from the shadows and into the light. Her master had spoken in Galactic Standard? His accent was almost passable. "Have your studies gone well?"

Clark didn't fight the chills racing up and down his arms. The Eradicator was back then. Maybe now she'd be working properly. "My studies have gone well." Clark was careful to use her language, anything that might make her do as she was told. "I command you to shut down."

The Eradicator shook her head slowly and smiled. "When I am convinced that you are truly a Kryptonian in mind as well as body, I'll do whatever you ask. I would rip worlds apart or build them up at your command. If you asked, I would gladly cease to function. Until that day, you have no power to command me."

* * *

There is nothing like the rhythm and recoil to working with a sledgehammer. You swing around and let the weight of the hammer fall with gravity. If you guide the head true, the energy flows into the post and recoils up your arm. Then you swing around in an arc and begin again. Jonathan hissed as his swing missed the mark jarring his entire arm. He hadn't actually put a post in the ground for a couple of years. Clark was so much more efficient that he'd turned the task over to him entirely. "Just have to get the rhythm back." With a sigh he set the hammer next to his partially driven fence post. "After I get a little water."

Some people might think it was strange, working day in and day out when his son was missing. Of course they didn't know the whole story, or that Clark was coming home. Well Jonathan knew, and he believed. This farm was a testament to his faith. There was only one reason to keep the farm alive, for his family. If Clark wasn't coming home, what was the point? That first day his faith had wavered. Martha had shut him out and it was all so raw and overwhelming. He had taken Martha's stash of emergency flu season whiskey and wandered down to inspect the fence Clark threw up before he left.

Jonathan shook his head. It was better not to think about that day. He'd made a mistake and let himself wallow in his grief. If he could just get Martha over that hump, she had to stop grieving and start living or there wasn't going to be anything left of her. It wasn't like she never left Clark's room. He could tell that she'd been in the bathroom and she'd left some dirty dishes in the kitchen. It broke his heart that she wasn't able to come to him. If Martha didn't come out of that room soon and show some signs of improvement, Jonathan was going to have to get some help. It went against his nature, bringing in an outsider to deal with a family crisis, but Martha needed something he couldn't seem to provide.

The moment he opened the backdoor, Jonathan knew things had changed. He smelled it first. The aroma of turnip greens hit him like a pungent wave. He poked his head around the kitchen door, and she was there. There were dark circles under her eyes and she looked wrung out like an old dishtowel. It was his Martha, tired and sorrowful, but she was making her way back. "Smells wonderful."

Martha couldn't stop herself from jumping. It hadn't been her intention to get caught downstairs. She'd been worried that Jonathan wasn't eating what he should so while he was out working, she was going to fix something. It had felt good to step outside and walk in her garden, but it hurt too. Her baby was trapped in space somewhere with the Eradicator. She shouldn't feel good while he was suffering. "Smells like greens. They've never been your favorite."

"I love your greens." Jonathan put himself in the door so that she couldn't retreat. Now that he had her out here, face to face, he wasn't going to let her shut him back out. "I love you too."

Martha turned her stove off and leveled her husband with a long stare. "This isn't about loving each other. I know you love me. I just need you to make this okay, and you can't." Her voice cracked and new tears started to fall. Martha had cried so much over the last week that it was a miracle there were any tears left in her.

"I don't have to make it right. I know Clark's coming home. We have to keep it together for him. He deserves to have a home when he makes it back." Jonathan crossed the kitchen and enfolded Martha in his arms. She'd never felt so delicate to him. Usually so very strong and independent, her whole body was shaking with sobs. Jonathan couldn't remember any of the words he murmured into his wife's hair, but he held her until the tears finally stopped.

"Your lunch is stone cold. Go get washed up. I'll have it ready when you get back," Martha said. She could see Jonathan's hesitation. He was afraid to leave her alone, afraid she would withdraw again. "I'll be here."

* * *

An unstable nest of papers was the only way to describe the disaster surrounding Chloe in the Torch's office. "Pete, finally, where have you been?" Chloe asked. She hardly looked up from the stack of papers she was leafing through to greet her friend.

"Java run, captain, remember?" Pete said. He managed to work the tall Styrofoam cup onto a relatively safe section of desk. "Don't sneeze cause I'm not digging you out of that mess when those files collapse and bury you."

_Clark would dig me out. _Chloe winced internally. At least she hadn't said it aloud. Pete didn't need any reminders about their missing friend. "I'm a journalist not a structural engineer. Stacking has never been one of my skills."

"So what are you working on? Is this Torch stuff or Clark stuff?" Pete asked. It was an easy question. Those were the only two projects in Chloe's universe right now. "I'm always game to help. Do you have a mission for me that doesn't involve running to the Talon and back?"

"Keeping the mastermind in caffeine is a very important duty," Chloe said. She wished the smile on her face didn't feel so fake and brittle. "Actually, I do have a new plan on the find Clark campaign." Chloe gave up forcing the smile and pawed through one of the stacks in front of her. "Jason Fisk, he's a very talented psychic by all reports, but he's not cheap. Maybe he could get us a line on who the so called Eradicator is? It would be a place to start. I'm getting nowhere fast on my own." It was hard to believe that Clark had been gone a week. The longer you were missing, the less likely you'd ever be found. It made Chloe so angry and sad at the same time. The thing that attacked her in the woods, the Eradicator, could mess with your mind. It had to have done something similar to Clark, scrambling his brains so he couldn't get away. Well Chloe was going to find them, if she had to turn over every rock in Smallville to do it.

"An expensive psychic? I guess that's where Lex comes in," Pete said. He tried not to sound bitter, but he'd never been a fan of Lex Luthor. When Clark befriended him, Pete had hated it. It was like his best friend was defecting, joining the enemy. Clark hadn't ever understood where Pete's sentiments stemmed from. He couldn't understand why people disliked Lex on instinct. Clark just trusted people too easily. Now Chloe was using moneybags for all he was worth. Every hair-brained scheme she could think of, Lex would bankroll. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but Pete was jealous of Lex. At least there was something he was able to contribute. There wasn't anything he could do to help find Clark. Running out for coffee when asked wasn't really helping.

"I always said you were a smart one, Pete. I'm heading over to the Luthor place this afternoon. Would you like to join me?" Chloe said. "I can always use the moral support."

Pete nodded. That was him moral-support-Pete.

* * *

"The odds of finding anyone alive after a week, if this really is a kidnapping are negligible. There hasn't been a ransom demand, nothing. I'm just telling you that you're wasting your money."

Lex stared at the middle-class private investigator standing across his desk. "I'll waste my money if I want. **If** Clark Kent isn't alive, the person responsible for that fact needs to be found anyway. You keep looking. I'll keep paying. I suggest you get back to work." Lex allowed himself to drop dramatically into his chair as the man beat a hasty retreat.

The wide-eyed, passive look Lex leveled on his closed door masked a hot frustration and anger. Clark saved his life on more than one occasion. He wandered around Smallville playing hero to anyone and everyone. It wasn't symmetrical or fair for Clark to be missing and presumed dead. Well, Lex was a realist and he didn't suffer from the illusion that the world was fair, but he would make no presumptions about Clark's death.

With a sigh, Lex scooped up a set of keys. Whether his friend was alive or dead, there were still things to be taken care of, promises to be kept.

* * *

Martha sat on her porch steps and stared at the seemingly endless fields of flat harvested corn. A job that should have gone on for at least a month was finished. Smallville had a way of pulling together when a crisis struck. The Mitchell boys came down with their dad's combines and made short work of the Kent corn earlier in the week. People with a missing son couldn't be expected to harvest their own crops.

Martha sighed and shook her head. It all looked too empty. Clark always loved the corn. It was a great place to hide and run. He wouldn't get a chance to be sad about losing his favorite shortcut to school this year. Martha let her eyes drift shut and imagined Clark was sitting beside her. She heard soft footsteps in the gravel, like Clark sneaking off to star gaze. Clark... It had been a week. Maybe he had already made it home? Martha stood and craned her neck. "Who's there?"

"It's just Lex, Mrs. Kent. I apologize for not stopping by sooner." _I planned to have found Clark by now. _"I hope I'm not intruding." Lex wouldn't let himself wince at Mrs. Kent's taunt pale skin. He didn't stare at the dark circles under her eyes or allow any of the pity he felt show through his expression.

"No Lex, I'm glad you stopped by. Jonathan is inside washing the dishes. Can you believe it? After all these years I thought he was allergic to dish washing." Martha folded her arms protectively over her knees and smiled. "Jonathan told me about how everyone has been working so hard to find Clark. He mentioned you in particular. A thank you doesn't cover it, but thank you." Martha couldn't help feeling guilt for all the time and effort being wasted looking for someone who wasn't even on the planet. They loved her baby too.

Lex shook his head and smiled back bitterly. "I sincerely wish there was something more I could do."

Jonathan paused just inside the screen door. He listened to Lex and Martha and made a decision. If Clark believed in Lex, Jonathan could give him the benefit of the doubt. This young man wasn't another Lionel Luthor, at least not yet. Maybe if they treated him like a human being, he'd learn to act like one instead of becoming a jackal. Clark had made him promise to look out for Lex. Well all Jonathan had to offer Lex was a little faith. It was all he seemed to have to offer anyone lately.


	16. Chapter 15 My Pet Rock

**-- Chapter 15 -- My Pet Rock -- **

"The Origin of Life on Krypton:"

"Life first evolved on the planet Krypton as a form of crystalline lifeform. The crystalline lifeform survived and reproduced by absorbing radiant energy from the sun. It existed as a variety of species, differentiated by their distinctive colors, red, blue, green, gold, and white. This variety of life is known generally as Kryptonite.

"The second variety of life to emerge on Krypton was carbon based and autotrophic – plants. The first unicellular varieties originated in the oceans."

"Stop," Clark said. He'd been listening to the piece of Kryptonium drone about various topics related to biology for hours. The Eradicator had decided he needed a little science this week and today was bio-day. It was so frustrating, sitting around doing what the Eradicator ordered. There wasn't any explanation. She just spouted off her orders. Study science. Study history. Study complex numbers and their application to space travel. Clark felt sure his brain was going to explode soon.

Well the Eradicator said study biology. She hadn't been specific about what he had to spend the time on. There were things that Clark was curious about. Why did he have powers? His ancestors seemed pretty advanced. They must have understood how their bodies worked. "It's not that I think that the in the beginning portion of this isn't important, but I'd like to skip around for a little bit. Maybe a little physiology, how does my body work? Or better, why do the meteor rocks make me sick?"

"Topic Change – Meteor Rocks – Green Kryptonite"

"This species of Kryptonite like the others is considered sentient. Unlike more useful species of Kryptonite, the green variety is almost universally considered insane. Rather than benefit from a symbiosis and cooperative relationship with Kryptonians, Green Kryptonite chooses the more predatory and independent relationship, forcibly stealing energy from Kryptonians. Green Kryptonite is exceedingly rare, as it has been systemically converted to the more sane and cooperative Blue Kryptonite or Kryptonium."

Clark shook his head. "So the difference between Green Kryptonite and Kryptonium is that one asks permission before it sucks the life out of you."

The little crystal flashed a brighter blue. "I am Kryptonium and I give at least as much as I get from my association with you and your kind. If you don't require my services, I am capable of surviving without your assistance. I have done so for several years now."

Clark didn't know what to say. The little rock had always behaved like a book on tape, one that you could ask questions. Apparently he'd offended it. It wasn't that Clark hadn't listened when the Eradicator said the Kryptonium was sentient, but on some level he hadn't believed. "You're really alive and intelligent. I'm sorry," Clark said. "I guess I didn't understand. You never let on that you felt anything before." A little blue rock, it was hard to think of it as a being, something that deserved respect. Maybe it got lonely too? "We could talk you know, not just study. I can't talk to the Eradicator. She's just a crazy weapon."

The sharp color faded back a degree and the crystal spoke directly into Clark's mind. _"The Eradicator is a malfunctioning weapon. Insanity implies sentience. We may speak if you wish, but I do not require companionship or conversation to survive." _

So the piece of Kryptonium was willing to talk to him and keep it between them. He should have introduced himself sooner. _"I do a lot better when I have somebody to talk to. So have you always been a library? Is that even what you are? Do you have a name?" _Clark imagined what the little piece of rock would look like if it were human. He tried to assign it a face and a personality. The only image he could bring to mind was that of his elementary school librarian. She was all skinny and pale with a tight little knot of mouse brown hair, Mrs. Duncan.

_"I have no name. Originally, I was Kryptonite, Red. I was coerced, tempted, changed. My current form is less playful, perhaps less free, but it is safer and saner."_ Along with the words, the Kryptonium sent the image of a fierce red rock.

_"A baby picture? Weren't you a handsome piece of Kryptonite? So Red Kryptonite is still insane. It's the playful variety?" _Clark smiled and held the little blue rock up to the light. _"You don't seem very playful to me."_

_"After you meet some Red Kryptonite, we'll see what you think of their playfulness. The things I did to your kind, the changes I made. Red Kryptonite is chaos." _The rock's mentally projected words jiggled with an imitation of laughter.

The smiled faded off Clark's face. Changes? Chaos? Meteor rocks, Green Kryptonite, made changes in humans. Had anything shown up back home since he'd been gone? Who would deal with it?_ "Do you know why the Kryptonite on Earth does the things it does to humans? It makes them into bizarre mutants. They're stronger but it's almost like it drives them insane too."_

_"I can only speculate that it seeks sustenance. The sun of Earth would be quite insufficient to satiate the Kryptonite's hunger. Perhaps it seeks to alter the humans into something more palatable."_

"Palatable?" Clark whispered. "You think the Kryptonite wants to feed on humans?" I should be at home, protecting my family from this. It came down with me, and now they have to face it alone.

"A starving creature will do whatever it takes to survive."

* * *

A blank computer screen, pristine and white, stared out from Lana's workstation. "What am I going to do with you?" There are few things more intimidating to a person who doesn't like to write, than a blank screen that has to be filled. Mario, the Yearbook Editor, had singled her out as the only freshman on the yearbook committee. Now she was responsible for the dreaded 'last pages'. If a student died or moved away or anything like that, they made the last pages. It was like a farewell, closure for the student body.

Lana sighed and scanned the list of kids who were supposed to be included at this point in time. Most of them were barely acquaintances. It wasn't even Thanksgiving. There shouldn't have been five kids on the list. A couple had moved with their parents, but most of these kids went out with a bang. Greg Arkin, bug boy, was dead. Lana shuddered. He'd killed his mom not to even mention what he'd tried to do to her. There was Tina Greer, the girl with many faces. She killed her mom too, not to mention the whole stalking thing.

They weren't all psychos and mutants. Lana typed in the name of the only person on her list that she actually considered a friend, Clark Kent. At least he wasn't dead, not officially anyway. "I don't think I ever really knew you, Clark. I have no idea what to write here. I promise not to put you on the same page with Greg and Tina. You deserve better."

Lana picked up the list and frowned down at it. "Someone who really knew you guys should be writing this." Mario had told her to just use a lot of pictures and try to be brief, especially with the felons. "If I'm going to do this right, I'm going to need some help," Lana said.

* * *

"Coat. Coat. Coat?" Chloe spun slowly in her office and scanned for her missing garment. "I swear this room swallows things into black holes." This town swallowed things into black holes. It swallowed people. Chloe turned to face her Wall of Weird. It was a place she sent a lot of time lately. She'd rearranged it, so the articles about Clark Kent were at the center.

Chill bumps raced up Chloe's arms, and she shivered. Winter was coming. "I really let you down this time Clark. It's been over a month and nothing. I know you're out there and you're okay, well as okay as one can be when they're at the mercy of a meteor mutant. I hope you haven't given up. I haven't given up."

A knock on the door caused Chloe to jump and she wiped at her eyes self-consciously. "Come on in."

"Chloe? It's Lana."

Chloe had to hold herself back from snorting. The perfect Lana Lang was slumming today. "Hey Lana. What can I do for you?" It was irrational for Chloe to feel the anger she did toward Lana. The only thing the girl had ever done to Chloe wasn't even her fault. Lana didn't choose to be Clark's fantasy girl. It wasn't like she could help that. What made Chloe angry was that Lana apparently couldn't see how lucky she was. She couldn't see Clark when he'd been right there under her nose.

Lana smiled sheepishly and held her clipboard to her chest. "I need your help with something. I'm on the yearbook staff and Mario assigned me the 'last pages'. You know, the last pages? I just don't know the kids real well. So I thought I should ask the people who did know them instead of trying to fake it. I was getting to know Clark but..." The look on Chloe's face stopped Lana cold. The girl looked murderous.

"My God," Chloe said. "Clark isn't dead, and he's coming back. You'd be wasting your time learning enough about him to write the page. Just try focusing on the other people on your little list. I'm sure there's enough to keep you busy."

Lana flinched and nodded. She hadn't even considered that Chloe might get defensive and upset. You're so stupid sometimes, Lana. It's too soon. "I'm so sorry. If you need to talk, I'd be happy..."

Chloe rolled her eyes and smiled thinly. "I don't need you're pity or your charity. Go dangle off your boyfriend for a while. You can pretend to care about someone else. I have a real low tolerance for hypocrisy, and you princess, take the cake."

* * *

Two men, bound by civility but locked in war, faced each other over an antique mahogany desk. "What the Hell do you call this," Lionel shouted. He slapped at the book of figures sitting open on his son's desk.

Lex smirked and crossed his arms over his chest. "I call that a profit margin. What brings you to Smallville, Dad? You have plenty of people reading my books."

Lionel's smiled was broad, white, predatory. "I came to visit my only son." _I came to bring you home. _"I heard about your friend, the boy who saved your life. Clark, right? It must be very hard to lose that little family you'd started to build out here in the sticks."

"I'm sure you weep for me," Lex said. A cold knot started in Lex's stomach and left him shivering. Had Lionel orchestrated Clark's untimely disappearance? Was the Eradicator a toy of his father's? "I find it hard to believe that you came to console me over the loss of a friend."

Lionel could see the theories forming behind his son's eyes and it made him proud. Never trust anyone or anything, Lex. "I thought you might be interested in a promotion. You remember LexCorp chemical in Detroit. I find myself in need of a new CEO. You've proven that you can make money out of well, shit. I'd like to give you a chance to work with something a little more substantial. What's really keeping you here?" Lionel gave Lex a firm pat on the shoulder. "Don't answer now. Sleep on it."

Lex sank slowly into his seat and willed himself to stop thinking. The thoughts that were running through his head were maddening. Could his father really be the mastermind behind Clark's vanishing act? The man had the ethical disposition of a wolf, but it wasn't his style, lashing out at a kid. Clark should have been far beneath his notice.

The intercom crackled to life. "Mr. Luthor, you have another visitor waiting, Ms. Sullivan."

Lex sighed and massaged his temples. He couldn't handle another outlandish plan right now. He had enough to digest with the information from his father. Chloe meant well and if it helped her deal with things, he'd bankroll her plans until she graduated from college or longer. It wasn't for her really. Clark had asked him to look after his parents. Lex had taken that request to heart, extending his protection to those people Clark had treated like family: Lana, Pete, Chloe. Well Chloe needed someone to bet on her longshots, and Lex could afford to. "No need to send her in. I'm on my way out."

Lex slid his shades on and grabbed a set of keys. A little distraction might be just what the doctor ordered. "I hope you didn't drive, because I'm in the mood to let someone else behind the wheel of the Porshe..." The teasing words died on his lips and he pulled down his shades. Chloe's face was red and tears were streaming down her face. She looked like someone just killed her best friend. _Have you given up on Clark then? Are you ready to mourn? _"What happened?" Lex said.

Chloe shook her head. "I don't know why I came here." She held up her tissue and shrugged. "I just went postal on Lana Lang. I said horrible things to her. She didn't deserve it. But, God, it felt good to just be mean. She's so bloody perfect and sweet, and Clark loved her."

Lex took a seat next to Chloe and smiled at her. "You instigated a cat fight? You didn't hurt her did you? Lana doesn't strike me as a scrapper."

Chloe burst out laughing. A little push and that laugh could slide into hysteria. "We didn't really fight. I just got mean with her."

"It's okay," Lex said. "Women are allowed to behave irrationally. It's a prerogative of the sex."

That was the singly most sexist comment she'd ever heard. Chloe knew her mouth was hanging open. Lex Luthor was a bloody sexist. "You did not just say that." As Chloe watched, Lex started chuckling. "You're kidding? You're mocking me?"

Lex slid his sunglasses back on. The hysteria was gone and Chloe wasn't crying anymore. His father didn't think there was anything left in Smallville for him, but there was. Clark had left him a whole family that needed him. "Let me drive you home."

* * *

The Eradicator watched impassively as Kal-El bonded with the Kryptonium she had gifted him with. It was frustrating, having to leave his instruction to the bit of crystal, but the inconvenienced couldn't be helped. The diagnostic had improved matters, but her logic circuits were still fading in and out. Taking the knowledge from Chloe Sullivan's mind had been a mistake. The girl's personality invaded her logic paths every time she strayed close to Kal-El. Emotions would blur everything, sometimes it was hot and burning, making her want to touch her master. Other times it was softer and less animal.

Unfortunately, there were some things that could not be left to the Kryptonium, despite her indisposition. "Kal-El, have you finished with your lessons then? I think you should stand and let me inspect you."

Clark curled his fist around the Kryptonium protectively and came to his feet. Wonderful, the Eradicator was back. She had probably decided to give him a test. "Inspect away."

Beneath those old aboriginal's clothes, she could see the Kryptonian she had come in search of. "Those clothes will not do any longer. They are filthy and worn. They do not speak of your heritage."

Clark tugged at his brown jacket and looked away. He wouldn't even get to keep the clothes on his back? _I hate you. _"Fine."

"I was pleased to notice that you've grown closer to the Kryptonium. Your ancestors have a long and intimate relationship with their kind," the Eradicator said.

Clark didn't answer. The Eradicator wanted to know how close he was with the Kryptonium? It was stupid, baiting a machine. It wasn't like the Eradicator could be annoyed...but it felt good. "The Kryptonium is alive and a pretty good conversationalist. She'll be going by Lola from now on. A living being deserves a name. I think she's pretty great."

A new emotion filtered through the Eradicator. Jealousy, hot and prickly whirled through her neural paths momentarily obliterating all logic. The moment passed. "This practice is also traditional, naming your personal Kryptonium. Lola is a highly unusual choice, but you were raised in a unique manner. Some eccentricity is acceptable."

Clark bit back a sarcastic grin. How much eccentricity was the Eradicator willing to endure? "I'll try not to disappoint too much."


	17. Chapter 16 School Is Out

**-- Chapter 16 -- School's Out -- **

Mrs. Pringles rubbed at her tired back and settled in behind her desk. Her last sociology class was long gone and most of her fellow teachers were settling in front of their televisions or with their families for dinner. Mrs. Pringles didn't have a family, but she did have over fifty sociology papers to grade. It was the end of the school year and final projects needed to be in the computer by the end of the week. Mrs. Pringles pushed her thick black-rimmed reading glasses up and squinted over the first paper of the pile.

Chloe Sullivan – Paper Topic: A Comparison of Socialism and Capitalism – Is there really a Difference?

Mrs. Pringles sighed and decided to try the next paper. Chloe was intelligent and well written. Honestly, a nice simple non-challenging paper would be more heartening to start from. Paper number two made her smile. Pete was a decent student and he had the good sense to echo his teachers back in his papers so it wouldn't take a great deal of thought to grade this one.

_Pete Ross – Paper Topic: Do Heroes Still Exist? What Role Do They Play in Society? _

_Dear Ms. Pringles, _

_I wrote the seven pages you asked for. All the citations are in place and all the resources are documented. I just couldn't turn the paper in without a cover letter. These research projects are about representing other people's ideas and showing that you understand them. I hope the following seven pages are up to that challenge. _

_The problem I ran into was the pessimism. It doesn't seem like any sociologists believe in the modern day hero, but I do. I felt pretty hypocritical turning in seven pages that I don't agree with. Instead I'm turning in seven pages I don't believe covered by a couple of paragraphs that I do. _

_The Pete theory: _

_Heroes still exist. At least they did a few months ago. My friend Clark was a hero. You might remember him, 6th period, 3rd row, 4 seats back. Not everybody noticed the things he did for other people. It wasn't like he wanted them to notice or make a fuss. That was part of what made him special. _

_You might think that since he's gone, I'd be siding with the pessimists. The bottom line is, I don't think Clark's the only one. I think we're all capable of being heroes, as long as we're willing to help each other. I know a lot of heroes. _

_I don't want to forget my friend, so I'm going to be a hero like he was. I'm going to try anyway. _

_What role does a hero play in society? It's a little role. If you're playing it right, no one notices you doing it, but it's important. _

_I suppose that's it. Enjoy the seven pages. _

_Sincerely, _

_Pete Ross_

* * *

Synthetic maroon material rested loosely across broad well-muscled shoulders. The silky garment cinched in tight to hug narrow hips before continuing almost to the floor. The Eradicator couldn't keep a smile off her face as she circled her master. Kal-El was the perfect image of Kryptonian beauty and grace. Too bad they'd need to disguise him for the time being. "You look lovely."

Clark rolled his eyes and consciously refrained from squirming. Kryptonian fashion was a pain. There were too many layers and they fit too snuggly. Clark felt exposed and vulnerable. Normally the Eradicator would let him get away with a pair of pants and nice loose shirt. Today she'd been insistent. She'd actually laid his clothes out for him. "Thanks, I guess."

"Earlier today we reached the planet Azar, government planet. In a matter of hours the Dodecannual Galactic Council will convene. When that happens, you will stand before them, the last true Kryptonian," the Eradicator said. She reached out and smoothed the fabric across his chest and straightened the black collar visible above the over-garment. "I will be at your command after that time. Don't be afraid of what's to come. You are a Kryptonian and you were born for this moment. I believe that."

Yesterday he'd been studying ancient Kryptonian history, and today all of a sudden he was facing some alien council? Clark shook his head. He hadn't been expecting this, but it was rather positive news. "You're going to listen to me after today? I'm shocked." It was almost too good to be true. _I could be home in six months. _His parents had to be so worried. He'd never imagined he'd be gone for so long. Not even to mention his friends, they probably hadn't even thought about him in weeks.

"Swallow this," the Eradicator said. She dropped a shimmering pill-sized purple sphere into Clark's hand. "The only way to keep you safe for the next few hours is to hide your heritage." Touching his hand sent the Eradicator into another destructive spiral of emotions and she had to step back. "Take a little time to adjust to the disguise. I'll be back and we will make our way to the council meeting."

As soon as the Eradicator was gone, Clark pulled out his piece of Kryptonium, Lola. "Forgive me for being abrupt, but I have a lot of questions and not a lot of time. I need to know about the Galactic Council. What will they want from me?"

"Certainly," Lola said. "First, you should take your disguise. The Eradicator is not being paranoid by requiring a disguise. Should anyone suspect that you were a Kryptonian, you life would be in a great deal of danger."

"Why would anyone want to hurt me? I haven't got an agenda. I wouldn't know a Galactic Politic if bit me. I just want to go home, and if standing in front of that council means the Eradicator will listen to me, I'm going to do it." Clark waited expectantly for Lola to elaborate.

"Take the disguise. It will need time to take effect," Lola said. "Then we can discuss the Council."

Clark stared at the little sparkling sphere, his disguise? It didn't seem terribly safe, just swallowing something that glowed like that. Well, he'd been eating what the Eradicator provided for the last six months. "I guess this is safe enough." Clark tossed the little sphere in his mouth and swallowed. "Okay, talk. Galactic council, and me."

Lola shimmered a light blue, a gesture Clark had come to associate with anxiety. "The Galactic Council was formed many millennia ago following the Seventeenth Intragalactic War. The ultimate victors, an alliance of Krypton, Veroten, and Rigom, formed the Over Council. With their supervision, an Under Council was established to provide representation to the conquered races. The Over Council did not seek to dominate these races. The council was established to help maintain peace and justice.

"Eventually, the role of the Over Council shifted. Rather than just keepers of the peace, the Over Council became the keepers of knowledge. The alliance used the Over council as a filter through which they controlled the other races with their superior technology. Eventually, the alliance began elevating Under Council member-nations to Over Council status. Only the most advanced civilizations could hope to ascend to the Over Council."

"Wait, so I'm the last Kryptonian, right? That's why it would be dangerous for me to just show up. I'm like the last of this 'overlord' type race," Clark said. "It isn't like I'm going to change anything. So there's one Kryptonian left. If they give it a few years, I'll be gone too. I'm not immortal."

Lola flashed an even paler blue. "I don't have more detail to offer. I wasn't an actively used piece of Kryptonium, at least not for several centuries. The Eradicator took me from a museum."

"No worries," Clark said. "This is going to be fine. I can handle this, and I'm going home tonight. Have to have faith, right?"

"Kal-El, are you ready to depart?" the Eradicator said.

Clark turned and his mouth dropped open. The goddess with her long black hair and perfect ivory skin was gone. "What happened to you?" Her head was slick and bald and her skin had shifted tones to a sick pea green with blotches of murky purple.

"I required a disguise as well. I was designed to appear Kryptonian," the Eradicator said. She tapped one of the walls and it shifted into a reflective surface.

Clark wasn't terribly disturbed by the change in the Eradicator. The bruised fruit look suited his perceptions of her better anyway. Clark hadn't really given a lot of thought to his 'disguise' until face with his reflection. The alien staring back at him was a real alien. His skin tone was pale purple and shimmering like the little pill he'd swallowed. What would his parents say to this look? If they'd found a shimmering purple alien in that corn field, they probably wouldn't have taken him home. Clark had never felt more far from home, or freakish. "How long does this last?"

"Scarcely long enough for us to reach safety. Let's move."

* * *

From his imitation Gucci shoes to his fake Rolex, Jason Fisk was the image of what Chloe had imagined a phony psychic would look like. He even had a cheesy accent and funny little black mustache. It was hard to believe this was the man who found over twenty lost children and helped solve murders across the country. He was just a cheesy middle-aged, greasy-haired, fake. Chloe could hardly believe she'd wasted Lex's money on him. It had taken the jerk six months to even clear his schedule and fly out to Smallville. "Mr. Fisk, I know it's been a long trip. Would you like to get right to work or maybe take a rest first?" Chloe asked.

"Yes Ms. Sullivan, it has been quite a long trip, but I would rather go right to work," Fisk said. His smile was thin and didn't last very long. "The sooner I locate your missing person, the sooner I can get out of this hole."

"Glad to see you're enjoying Smallville. So, what do you need to get to work?" Chloe asked. Maybe he was a jerk and he didn't want to be here, but he had a rather large check fattening his wallet so they were getting their money's worth however surly he got.

Fisk sighed internally. They were all the same. No one really believed in his abilities, not until he proved himself to them. This girl wasn't any different. He could read her contempt in the tone of her voice and the set of her jaw. He didn't need psychic powers to figure that one out. Part of her anger was probably at his late arrival. Her friend had been missing for six months. It likely seemed pretty heartless to her that he would take so long responding to her needs, but he had a strict selection criteria for the cases he took. Teenagers as a rule didn't get priority. More than half the time they were fine and came home on their own, and the other half of the time they really didn't want to be found. "We should start at the missing person's home. His name's, what? Clark Kent? His parents know I'm coming, right?"

"Actually, you're a surprise."

* * *

A thousand different flavors of aliens, some humanoid, just as many not, flowed down the street. Clark tried to stay as close to the Eradicator as he could manage. He'd never had a claustrophobic moment in his life until now. There were so many bizarre smells: spicy, wet, rancid, salty. It all swirled together between the gracefully arcing buildings so that he could hardly breathe. Hopefully the council wasn't far. Clark wasn't sure how much of this insanity he could handle.

"This way," the Eradicator said. She grabbed his hand before ducking down a side street. "We're not going in the front door, and we have some time to kill. There's just enough time to complete your education."

"Complete my education?" Clark couldn't imagine what that might entail. "My brain's already overloaded. I don't think I could take another lesson, thanks."

The Eradicator shook her head. "This last lesson is the most important. It's the one thing your Lola has absolutely no knowledge of. My lesson to you is the destruction of Krypton."

The one question he'd had since the Eradicator first told him he was the last of his kind: What happened to the rest of them? She was really going to answer it? "You can tell me what happened to them?"

"I said I could tell you everything before we ever left the Earth. Now is the time." The Eradicator gestured gracefully for Clark to sit. She couldn't help feeling proud of herself for her newfound self-control. Kal-El's disguise was helpful in that arena. This shimmering purple skinned man was not evoking the Chloe-personality. She was functioning almost normally. "The planet of Krypton was a beautiful and clean world. It glowed with its own light, blue and soft. You can imagine where that glow came from. There was so much Kryptonium that its light could be seen from the depths of space.

"Krypton fell in one day. Every Kryptonian on the planet died in one day. I only found you, because your father left a journal. You only survived because Jor-El, your father, predicted the apocalypse. If your father's warning had been heeded the society would have survived."

"I don't understand," Clark said. "How could this kind of civilization fall in one day? Did the planet blow up? Wouldn't there be colonies all over even if it did? It doesn't make sense." Clark threw his hands up and laughed. It wasn't logical. "Why would my parents evacuate me and not themselves?"

"The planet did not blow up. The sun spontaneously changed spectral patterns. The new pattern of radiation immediately converted all the lovely useful Kryptonium into deadly Kryptonite." The Eradicator felt a horrible rage bubble up in her at the thought. Her creators were destroyed by that glowing green menace while she'd been gathering dust in a display case. The war wasn't over though. She had to remain calm and logical. "Your parents were confined to their home. House arrest was to last until such time as the period of the apocalypse had passed. Jor-El was branded an anarchist for trying to force the evacuation of the planet. He was brilliant though, and he had the raw materials in his home to construct one life pod. He saved you, his only son. I can't tell you why you were sent to Earth. Your father's journal did not say."

_I was loved and wanted. I wasn't sent to Earth to conquer or do anything sinister. My other parents just wanted to give me a chance to live. Clark wished he could tell his real parents what he'd learned. They'd always wondered about him, his origins and purpose. "Is that all you know?"_

"No, but that's all you need to know. It's time to face your destiny, Kal-El. You're finally ready."


	18. Chapter 17 Ascension

**- Chapter 17 - Ascension - **

Crisp cream paper covered by rows of legal jargon, paragraph after paragraph of fine print, sat in a neat stack next to a cup of lukewarm coffee. Jonathan Kent sighed and shook his head at Martha. "I can't believe you even talked me into considering this."

"It's not like you're selling your soul to the devil," Martha said. She used her fork to move her eggs around on her plate before using the utensil to point to the legal document sitting between them. "It's a good deal. We don't lose anything by renting the fields that are off rotation right now. We have nearly one hundred acres sitting around covered in vetch at any one time. LuthorCorp will just be testing their new _completely organic _fertilizer line. It's perfect, Jon. Admit it."

"Nothing's perfect," Jonathan said. This was pretty close though. It was one thing to be civil to Lex Luthor. This was a big step, making business deals with the man. Lex had shown himself to be an admirable friend to Clark, at least that was what Martha was always saying. She'd had the man over for dinner nearly a dozen times, and Jonathan had been civil. Hell, he'd been cordial. He looked across the table at the empty seat next to Martha, and Jonathan could see Clark there smiling._ Trust him Dad. _"I'm going to sign it. I just can't find my pen."

Martha reached into her pocket and brandished a black ballpoint. "Stop with the excuses. I'm supposed to deliver a load of vegetables today and I'd like to drop those papers off." This was the right thing. Maybe selling the farm had been an option before, but now it just wasn't. Clark needed to have his home when he made it back. Who knew what he would have had to go through, trapped with that crazy machine? Something needed to stay constant. He shouldn't have to search for his family or his home after he made it back to Earth.

Martha stirred her eggs into a smiley face. Clark used to play with his food when he was little. He was always making potato chickens or string bean cows. Martha sighed and shoveled a forkful of her masterpiece down. Six months was a long time for her baby to be missing. It felt more like six years to her. The Hell of it all was the not knowing. Sometimes Martha would imagine things for Clark to be up to. He would be on some far off planet walking under some strange red or white or blue sun. She wouldn't let herself think about the bad things that might have happened, things the Eradicator might do. It was a household rule. They never talked about the bad things that could have happened to Clark. They discussed things like, how long he'd be gone, or what he might see out there.

"Done," Jonathan said. He signed the document, all three copies and tossed Martha her pen back. "I have to get to work."

* * *

Martha nudged a basket of mixed vegetables onto the polished marble countertop and smiled over at the Luthor chef, Martin. The little balding man was elbow deep in yeast and dough so Martha didn't try to strike up a conversation. This mansion, with its brocade and silk, its mahogany furniture and priceless nick knacks, always made her feel a little drab and provincial.

Martha dug her hands down into her pockets and steeled herself to wander through the museum Lex Luthor called home. She poked her head around the kitchen door and spotted Lex making his way downstairs. "Excellent timing," Martha said. She came on out and waved to him. "I was going to have to look for you. Jonathan and I wanted to make sure you got this today." Martha held out the stack of papers finalizing their business partnership.

Lex smiled and took the papers. Sometimes things worked out the way you planned them. The Kent farm was safe. Sure he'd had to instigate the development of a new line of fertilizer to pull it off, but it was worth it. A bittersweet victory, Jonathan Kent trusted him, but now the friendship Jonathan's distrust had threatened was history.

It still made Lex angry when he thought about it. Clark Kent was another unsolved Smallville mystery. It wasn't something that kept him up nights, at least not anymore. Clark had been the first person since his mother that saw something worthy in Lex, but you have to mourn the people you care about when they disappear out of your life.

Eventually Martha and Jonathan were going to have to let go and mourn as well. Something needed to happen to give them the closure. If his expensive private investigators could just solve the mystery, find the Eradicator and give them someone to punish, Lex felt sure they could start healing. "Thank you. Tell Mr. Kent, I'll give him plenty of warning before we send any people out to start the trials."

"We should be thanking you, Lex. That is a very generous offer, and we needed it," Martha said. She smiled warmly and patted Lex on the arm. When Clark made it home and found out about this partnership, he was going to be so happy with Jonathan and Lex too. "Will we be seeing you for dinner tomorrow?"

* * *

Chloe slammed her car into park and turned to stare at her psychic. "Well Mr. Fisk, let's see what you can do."

Fisk sighed and pushed his shades up. "This is it?" A little dusty patch of nowhere, with cows, it lived up to the town's reputation. "Introduce me first. I don't want to get shot for trespassing."

"Like Mr. Kent would shoot someone," Chloe said. This joker was a serious jerk. He'd better be a dang good psychic. "Follow me." This was so a mistake. Jason Fisk, super-psychic, was going to upset Mr. and Mrs. Kent and it was going to be her fault. Chloe knocked at the front door and craned her neck around looking for the Kent's Chevy. "You know I don't think they're home."

"A fundamental problem with bringing a surprise psychic," Fisk said. "You run the risk of wasting everyone's time." He walked out into the little yard and leaned against the rail fence. "Is there somewhere we can start without invading anyone's privacy. Did this kid have any place he liked outside?"

Chloe crossed her arms and nodded. If she let super-psychic do his thing while the Kents were away, he wouldn't get the chance to rub salt in any wounds. This was her_ crazy plan _and she should have to deal with it. "Clark spent a lot of time in the barn loft." Leading the way to the big red structure, Chloe rubbed at her arms and tried to rationalize her continued search. Every rational person who wasn't emotionally caught up in the situation knew that Clark was dead and gone. Why couldn't she just accept that? Why was she still following leads and wasting Lex Luthor's money?

Chloe climbed the little ladder into Clark's loft and walked over to stand by the telescope. "This is it, Clark called it..."

"His fortress of solitude," Fisk said. He tossed aside his sunglasses and pulled off his leather gloves. With a deep sigh, he spread his hands and sucked in a deep breath. "Clark Kent is definitely alive. Dead folks don't feel like that."

* * *

One chrome door, arched and tall, stood in the path of Clark Kent, alien pilgrim._ I walk through that door, bow to the peanut gallery and then I can go home. _How many steps beyond that door did he have to go? What kind of aliens would be waiting?

Clark smiled at his reflection in the door. Fortunately, his funky purple disguise had faded as promised. Would the Eradicator be as good as her word about everything else? Would she really roll over and start taking orders from him? If she didn't, maybe this council would help him deal with her. One way or another, it was time to go home.

A glowing blue security blanket, Clark brushed a hand over his Kryptonium. Lola was running a quiet commentary on etiquette, which he was only half listening to. She would warn him if he started a faux pau though and that was comforting.

Without a sound or warning the doors split and rolled back. The room ahead was much dimmer and Clark squinted trying to see what lay ahead. _Step forward with confidence and hold your head high. _The Eradicator had sent him in without much direction. She was a weapon and didn't dare enter the government building so he was on his own, except for Lola.

Clark took a steadying breath and moved forward into the unknown. He could remember the mad crush of aliens en route, the suffocating smells and the bizarre creatures. This place was going to be full of those same creatures. Wasn't it? Clark's eyes adjusted quickly, but there weren't any aliens. The room was large with a vaulted ceiling but the place was practically empty. The walls, floor, everything was covered intricate swirls in crimson and azure and gold. The patterns seemed to originate from a bank of screens against the far wall. Clark frowned and turned a slow circle. "Is anyone here?" He flinched at the sound of his own voice echoing back. The place almost seemed like a sanctuary, a church.

"Everyone of import has arrived. You may call me Dessa. I sent for you."

Clark turned to face the owner of that clipped cool voice. "You sent for me? Where's the council?" It was a woman, tall and rail thin with thick white hair tumbling past her hips. Pale-white with a tinge of blue, her skin stretched almost translucent across the delicate bones of her face.

"The council is here, young Kryptonian. You stand in front of the Over Council of the galaxy," Dessa said. She lifted one delicate hand and gestured toward the bank of screens behind her. "The council will reconvene soon. You will be here for that."

A bank of screens was the Over Council? Video conferencing, they probably served from their homes. It had to be safer that way. "I see, I think. How much longer until it convenes?" Clark felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Dessa had amber eyes just like a snake's and she didn't ever seem to blink them. She was staring at him and it was making him nervous.

"Relax, there isn't anything to be anxious about. Come, share a refreshment with me while we wait." Dessa approached a wall and tapped it in a rapid rhythm. She turned with a pair of broad shallow cups. "This is a delicacy, Essai."

Clark met her halfway across the room and accepted one of the glasses. Delicacy usually meant disgusting. "I'm really not thirsty. I just want to get this council-business over with." He stared skeptically at the pink frothy liquid and wondered if it would be rude to not drink. Lola had said something about the proper way to refuse a beverage courteously._ I have to get though this. I have to get through this. _Clark tossed the drink back and tried to swallow without tasting. Slick and slimy, it was like swallowing moldy applesauce.

"You aren't looking forward to the council meeting? I can't say that I'm surprised. The Eradicator contacted me after you were discovered and I've been preparing for a nonconsensual ascension for some time now." Dessa casually tossed aside her glass without drinking. "She said you'd been quite difficult and unwilling to face up to your responsibilities."

Clark flinched and stared at the pink liquid spreading over the floor. "Why didn't you drink? What do you mean by ascension?" Clark felt a sinking in his stomach. He should have known it was too easy. Walk in and face the council and then get to go home? The Eradicator didn't work that way. He should have seen this coming. _"Lola, what do I do? What's happening?"_

_"I don't know. I think perhaps we should run." _Lola replied into Clark's mind. _"Run now."_

Clark meant to head for the door at super-speed. That was what his brain was saying. His legs just didn't seem to understand. After a half-dozen unsteady steps toward the door, Clark stumbled to his knees. Whatever Dessa had slipped him was fast acting. "Why are you doing this?" It had been humbling, trapped on a ship with the Eradicator, a being that could physically dominate him. Now a new alien Dessa was going to have a go with pushing him around?

"Don't be afraid," Dessa whispered. "There will be no pain."

"Am I dying?" Clark whispered. A numbness had begun to spread through his limbs, and he collapsed to the floor. "I don't want to die like this." Clark's eyes drifted shut, and tears traced across his cheeks and down his neck into his hair. He'd promised his parents that he'd make it home. He had never meant it to be a lie._ I'm sorry, Mom... Dad. So sorry. _

"You're still afraid? You should not fear this. Today you ascend, transcend. Today you become a God."


	19. Chapter 18 Hell

**-- Chapter 18 -- Hell -- **

"Clark's alive? You can just walk into this loft and make that declaration after five seconds?" Chloe asked. "I've been looking for six months." Was she supposed to just believe this guy? _God, but I want to believe him._

"People leave bits of themselves on everything they touch. When a person dies those connections fade, become monochromatic and empty. This room is lit up like a Christmas tree," Fisk said. "It doesn't belong to a dead kid. Finding this, Clark, will take a little more time, but I think I'm up to it."

Clark was alive? It was the word of a two-bit psychic, but Chloe latched onto the assurance. Maybe she wasn't totally insane to still be looking? "You can really find him?"

"I make no guarantees, but I'm pretty good at this. Give me a little space and a little time," Fisk said. He shooed Chloe toward the ladder and rested his hands on Clark's telescope. "A little privacy, please."

"Good luck Mr. Fisk," Chloe said. _Find him._ "I'll be right outside."

* * *

One young man, tall and fair, with full black hair brushing his temples lay silent and unmoving. So small a thing, one man, but his very existence changed everything. Dessa reached out a pale thin hand and rubbed at the drying tears on his cheeks. She stroked his forehead absently but lovingly. It hadn't even been a hope in the back of her mind when she dispatched the Eradicator, but Dessa had a real Kryptonian. "I know you can't speak right now. The drug is a quite potent, but you can listen." With a gentle push, Dessa opened Clark's eyes. They were awake, conscious, and so very afraid. "It pains me to cause you such distress. In a few hours, our situation will be quite reversed, and you will be the one with the power. I hope you can forgive me for doing my duty and preserving the council."

Forgive her? Clark just wanted to scream, to run. A hysterical laugh didn't make it past the impulse in his head. Blinking was beyond him at the moment, much less running or speaking or laughing. Like a bony claw, Clark could feel her fingers on his face and in his hair, stroking gently. Don't touch me!

Dessa settled herself onto the ground, her silky lavender robes pooling around her into shimmering puddles of fabric. "You couldn't possibly understand now, why we would want a child like yourself for our council. I could try to explain it to you. It might calm your fears to understand." With slow careful movements Dessa began tugging at the fastenings to Clark's clothes. "Perhaps better to let you see for yourself though? Words could not possibly do justice to what is to come."

Now bare and exposed, Clark's chest rose rhythmically with shallow breaths. He could feel the cool claw-like hands of his tormentor tracing over his flesh, over his heart. This couldn't be how the galaxy worked. This was insane. Someone was going to burst through those doors and stop this, whatever this was. A new sensation, sticky and wet flowed across his chest and over his neck. God, was she painting him? Her hands were in the wetness, tracing a pattern. Clark strained to tilt his head just a bit so he could see what was happening, but he couldn't. _Lola? Are you there? Can you see what she's doing? Please be there, Lola. _The silence in his mind was maddening. Dessa must have taken his Kryptonium with his clothes. It wasn't that far. Couldn't she hear him?

Like a gentle cool breeze across his panicked mind, a song filled the silence. _You aren't alone, and whatever happens, you won't face it alone. _The words were too bulky, and Lola had to struggle to find the correct ones. To be honest she hated words. They were artificial and forced. Setting aside clumsy words, she shared her true voice, her song of sadness and fear and support. Clark was the last of his kind, and he was her partner of late. He belonged to her as much as she had ever belonged to him. It had been so many years since anyone had needed her or talked to her as a being. Lola was not yet ready to let go of him. Her song of empathy was all she had to offer, but she would give it freely. Perhaps, this ascension was survivable? Lola tried to lace that hope into her song. She tried to gift him with some calm, some tiny relief from fear.

Simple warmth like being bundled into his mother's quilt filled Clark's mind. Lola's song was soothing and delicate, a whisper of hope. For the first time, his Lola let Clark see her true nature, her soul. The beauty was a distraction from the insanity surrounding him, and Clark let it fill his mind. _Thank you._

* * *

A silhouette amongst the shadows, motionless and silent, the Eradicator awaited the birth of her true master. This should have been a time of peaceful waiting. It should have been empty time, without distraction. Like incessant insects buzzing about her head doubts niggled at her consciousness though. Had she made the right choice, returning her master to the Over Council? She had resisted the command of a Kryptonian to bring him here. Sacrificing Clark to save Krypton was the right choice. It was the only choice. Wasn't it?

The dissenting voice in her would not be silenced. Clark was the last Kryptonian, her master. She should never have fought him. This should not have been her choice. The Eradicator took a single tiny step toward the council entrance. **No**, Clark could never truly save Krypton as he was. The salvation of Krypton was more important than anything, any life or soul. Only Kal-El could ensure Krypton's eternal legacy. But Kal-El would never be Clark.

The Eradicator froze, a simple realization filling her confused logic circuits. She valued Clark higher than Krypton. The risk was too great. She could not allow this to happen. The ascension would have to be stopped.

* * *

Chloe sat cross-legged in the dusty patch of dirt under Clark's fortress of solitude and traced little simple drawings in the sand, a flower, a heart, a bird. Was she insane to be sitting there waiting for a psychic to tell her where her missing friend was? She should be at home, packing her bags and getting ready to start her internship at the Daily Planet. Her train would be leaving at the end of the week. Technically Clark had helped her land that coveted position. Her work sample had been the series of articles she'd written about his disappearance. Chloe smiled and smoothed her latest creation off the sand. _Thank you, Clark, _she scribbled. Blinking rapidly to clear her eyes, Chloe turned her gaze heavenward. "If I had could trade, Daily Planet or you...I wish I could trade."

Chloe sighed deeply. It didn't harm anything, giving the psychic a chance to do his thing. Maybe he really was right and he could find Clark. It was worth the effort anyway.

"Chloe? What on Earth are you doing out here?"

Chloe jumped and threw a hand across her heart. "Mr. Kent, you scared me to death." She bounced to her feet quickly and brushed the worst of the dust off her jeans. There went her plan to keep anyone from getting hurt or offended by super-psychic.

Jonathan, covered in a fine dusting of fertilizer and dirt, came walking over toward Chloe. "Sorry about that. I wasn't expecting anybody out here. Are you looking for Martha, or can I help you?"

_I brought a psychic and he's chanting in your barn? _Chloe grinned and shrugged. "Actually, I wasn't looking for either of you. I was looking for Clark. New strategy, I brought a psychic." Chloe winced internally at Mr. Kent's darkening frown and continued quickly. "I know I should have asked first, but he said that Clark's definitely alive, and he has a really good reputation."

"I don't believe in that kind of nonsense, Chloe. I don't want it on my land," Jonathan said. It wasn't a lie. He didn't believe in psychics. You wouldn't catch Jonathan Kent calling Ms. Cleo's magical hotline. On the off chance that he was wrong though, it was best to get Chloe's friend off the farm as soon as possible. There were too many secrets hiding around every corner. "Where is this psychic?"

Chloe pointed up. "I left him at Clark's telescope." A high pitched scream erupted from the loft where Chloe was pointing. "What the heck?"

"Your psychic?" Jonathan asked.

* * *

An intricate pattern, swirls of gold and silver, covered Clark's face and chest. All that remained of the elaborate Kryptonian attire the Eradicator had insisted upon was a simple pair of black pants. Dessa smiled down at her carefully worked masterpiece and wiped the last of the body paint from her hands. "It's time."

Clark couldn't see the hands, which lifted him from the ground and carried him forward. He could see Dessa now, so thin and gaunt like an emaciated waif. What did he face today? Ascension? There wasn't anything to be done. He couldn't run or beg. He couldn't fight or reason with this woman. At least he wasn't alone. Lola's song still hummed quietly through his mind. _I will not die here. Whatever is coming, I'll face it and I'll survive. _

A tiny proud smile flitted across Dessa's face. Most representatives to the Over Council never had the honor of overseeing an Ascension. "I envy you so," Dessa whispered.

Clark couldn't see the vat of thick black viscous fluid the anonymous hands began to lower him into. The last thing he saw before his head dropped below the syrupy fluid's surface was the enraptured face of Dessa, staring at him with her yellow snake eyes.

* * *

"Mr. Fisk?" Chloe approached the prostrate psychic with Mr. Kent following a step behind. The man was moaning and rocking. "Are you okay?"

"Can we help you?" Jonathan added. Was this guy for real? Shouting and flopping around on the floor, it seemed overly dramatic to be anything but an act.

Fisk had his eyes squeezed shut and sweat was pouring over his face. "Clark can't breath, can't move. It's too dark to see. So very dark here...have to face it, survive it. I won't die here!"

Chloe's heart leapt into her throat. Fisk's distinctive New York accent had had vanished. He'd sounded like Clark at the end, exactly like Clark. "Where is he Mr. Fisk?" Chloe's voice wavered and she dropped down to her knees next to Fisk.

Jonathan was speechless. Maybe, just maybe, this man was for real. Secrets be damned, if Fisk was in the moment with Clark...Jonathan would risk anything for a chance to find out what was happening to his son, even if he knew that they weren't going to find him. "Can you see Clark?"

* * *

Clark didn't panic right away. Sure he couldn't breathe or move and the black goop was burning like fire on his open eyes, but he couldn't believe that they'd gone through all this to just drown him. There had to be more to ascension than death, didn't there? The silence was the first thing that really spooked him. He'd lost Lola's song. The black goop was Lola proof apparently. Still, that was no reason to panic. Then he lost the pain. His eyes stopped burning and the sensation of wetness and clinging stickiness faded away from his limbs.

Blackness, inky and impenetrable filled the world. No light, sound, or sensation remained in him. Clark began to panic in earnest. Was this nothingness ascension? How long the time of silence and emptiness lasted, Clark couldn't tell. He only knew, if something didn't break through the black, he'd go insane.

As if in answer to Clark's distress, golden light came, banishing the blackness. Still there was no pain? His eyes should have been in agony adjusting to the new light. Clark didn't dwell on this inconsistency. The light was too valuable and welcome. The golden light was followed quickly by every other shade of the rainbow. What had been welcome soon became overwhelming, so much color, flashing and strobing and shifting. Occasionally a picture or a string of text would emerge, only to be overwhelmed by the chaos. Clark wished he could close his eyes or cover his face, but there was no respite from this onslaught.

Just when he thought he couldn't take anymore, the colors vanished. A chorus of sounds began to swell almost immediately. There was no harmony or beauty. Every note was discord, like a thousand symphonies being played simultaneously without regard for one another. Stop! Clark wanted to shout. Please stop. It was too much. He was going to lose his mind. Those horrible sounds were going to scour him until there was nothing left.

And the blessed silence returned. _Thank God. _

After a short time, light and sound returned, together this time, but they didn't rise to a painful level. Before Clark's eyes the blank black world formed into a familiar structure. From the seventies style architecture to the little tables and multicolored plastic seats, it was his elementary school library. What is this place?

Without any fanfare, a being appeared behind the checkout desk. It was Ms. Duncan, skinny and prim and proper. "This place is the interface to the Kryptonian Over Council seat. It's configuration was taken from your mind."

Clark blinked slowly. He looked down and stared at his feet. "I can't feel anything. I'm numb. Why can't I feel anything?" Clark stared at his hands and rubbed them together. "Nothing."

"This program allows for sight and sound. No other sensations were coded," Ms. Duncan said.

Clark nodded, relieved at the explanation. His body was back there in the tar waiting for him to complete ascension. This wasn't real. "How do I complete ascension?"

"Ascension is complete."

"What?" What exactly had he done? "Define ascension. Tell me what it means."

"Certainly, the Over Council is the final executive branch to the Galactic Eruditocracy. All races are ruled by those with knowledge. Knowledge is equivalent to power quite literally.

"As it were, the societies with the most knowledge and wisdom are often those societies nearing their end. To preserve the knowledge without turning it over to the younger races who are not yet ready for such_ power, _the Over Council seat was devised. The Over Council races compiled all their learning: science - poetry - music - literature – the waging of war - everything, into their seat or database.

"Ascension is the final step in the process. As the society enters its final decline, a leader or scholar is chosen to be the gatekeeper to their achievements for all eternity. That being's mind is written into the program."

Clark couldn't speak for a long moment. Eternity? He wasn't going to live forever. How could they expect him to be gatekeeper forever? "How do I get back to my real body?"

"You have no body. Ascension is eternal."

* * *

Like an avenging angel, the Eradicator burst through the doors to the inner antechamber to the Over Council. The only being present, Dessa, turned a haughty eye toward her. "Where is he?" the Eradicator said. She flew at the delicate little politician. "I have reconsidered ascension. He should make the decision himself. Don't even try to refuse me or command me. I could split this world in two and you know it."

Dessa nodded slowly. "I understand. Unfortunately, ascension is complete."

The Eradicator scanned the room slowly looking through the walls searching for one uniquely dense skeleton. There he was. In an instant she had Clark, covered in thick black liquid, but still alive. A child, the last Kryptonian, and she'd destroyed him. A new emotion, guilt, filled her. It was a horrible mistake. "Can it be reversed?"

"Of course not," Dessa said. "It is traditional to allow the body to die in symbolism of the rebirth cycle. You should return him to the bath of the ascendant."

The Eradicator lifted Clark's limp body into her arms and glared at Dessa murderously. "I will do no such thing." She held Clark close and strode purposefully for the door.

Dessa watched the Eradicator's silent but quick retreat and sighed. That weapon was highly unstable. Releasing her had been worth it though. The council was whole again. It had all been worth it.

"Dessa."

And Kal-El was a fast learner too. She turned to face the newly active screen against the wall. "Yes, Kal-El?" It was his face, the boy, which the Eradicator had taken. The fear was gone, replaced by righteous anger.

"You did this to me, without asking, without even considering my rights. My life is over. You ended my life!" Clark wished he had hands to reach out and shake the horrible woman. The last thing he would see with his own eyes had been those yellow snake's eyes. She was the last person he'd ever touch. He could still remember how chill and horrible her hands had felt, sliding over his chest and face. The sight of her brought out a murderous hate in his heart. Clark had never felt this kind of anger or darkness.

"Your life will never be over. You are eternal, an overlord, a God. This is an amazing new beginning. Embrace your destiny. It is a bright one." Dessa came forward and bowed slightly toward the screen.

_Bright destiny? Eternal life? _Clark wished he could cry. He was trapped. There was nothing to do, nowhere to go. Despair, thick and suffocating, filled him. "If I hadn't just been alive, I wouldn't know that this is death."


	20. Chapter 19 The Depths of Madness

**-- Chapter 19 -- The Depths of Madness -- **

A little red sports car, zipped along an old county road leaving a cloud of dust in its wake. The car was going fast, but it was a reasonable fast. At least the focused young man behind the wheel thought it was reasonable. Lex Luthor had to consciously restrain himself from increasing his speed to dangerous levels, well more dangerous levels.

How could this have happened? One minute, he'd been accepting a dinner invitation from Mrs. Kent, the next he was fielding a distraught phone call from Chloe. Lex could hardly remember okaying the psychic-for-hire-plan months ago. It had been one of a dozen projects he was bankrolling for Chloe. He hadn't been questioning her wild schemes at the time. Jesus, how had this happened? It had been six months. Why did Chloe bring a bloody psychic to the Kent's farm? Was she completely insane?

Lex zoomed into the first parking spot he found and slammed his door. Chloe hadn't been making much sense on the phone, and the incessant screaming in the background hadn't been heartening. Jonathan Kent was going to blame him for this. At least he already had their business deal in writing.

Scanning the little lobby, Lex made his way through the sea of plastic waiting room chairs filled with the faceless wounded and sick. Giving up on the search and scan method, he headed for the tight-lipped receptionist. "Excuse me, I'm looking for Chloe Sullivan and Jonathan Kent. They weren't admitted but they came in with someone."

"Are you family?" the nurse asked.

"Of Chloe or Mr. Kent?"

The nurse glared over her glasses at Lex. "No genius, of the guy who got admitted."

"I don't even know his name," Lex said. "Could you just point me to my friends, please?" Did this woman have any idea who she was dealing with?

"Lex, there you are," Chloe called. She broke away from a police officer to head over to Lex.

God, she looked wrung out, pale and strained. His impulse to tear into Chloe with angry accusations faded back and Lex took a steadying breath. "What happened? You should have called me before you raided the Kent's farm with a psychic."

Chloe grimaced and nodded. _I should have called the Kents at the very least. _"Hindsight is twenty-twenty. It all got out of control so fast."

Lex wrapped an arm around Chloe and eased her into a seat. "Just tell me what happened from the beginning."

Wasn't he going to get angry with her and scold her for irresponsibility? "Well, I came out to the farm with Mr. Fisk and no one was home. So I carried him out to Clark's favorite spot and left him by the telescope. Everything seemed fine. He said Clark was alive. Mr. Fisk, the psychic, he really seemed to be right there channeling Clark or something before it all went to Hell. I think it was real, and I believe Clark's alive somewhere."

Lex couldn't think of anything to say to that. Couldn't she see that it had been too long? Clark had to be dead. Didn't she see? Lex refused to let Chloe's irrational belief in some psychic sway what he knew to be the truth. "We both know that isn't very likely."

Chloe started patting her pockets for her notepad. "I stopped and wrote down everything he said in case there was a clue about where we could find Clark. He didn't say much, before he lost it." She threw her hands up and shrugged. "I must have left my pad at the truck."

"Chloe, let it go," Lex said. "This has gone on long enough. It's time to move on. Clark wouldn't want this. You know he wouldn't."

Chloe stood and glared down at Lex. How dare he tell her to let it go? He wasn't there, and he didn't hear. "Mr. Fisk started screaming, Lex. I've never heard anyone scream like that except sometimes in my nightmares, when I dream about the Eradicator. I wake up screaming, but I don't know why. Mr. Fisk couldn't stop screaming. It took three EMT's to sedate him. That Eradicator-thing hurt Clark like she hurt me, and Fisk felt it. He isn't dead. You have to help me find him. Clark needs us." Tears blurred her vision, and Chloe took a couple of unsteady steps back toward the hallway and the cops.

Lex came to his feet and gripped Chloe by the shoulders. He stared into her eyes, practically daring her to let her tears spill over. "I won't stop looking, okay. I can't say that I believe we're going to find anything, but I swear, we won't stop. Now calm down. It's going to be okay." Comforting distraught teenagers wasn't something Lex had a lot of experience with, but he liked to think he was getting better at it. Chloe didn't start sobbing anyway. That was a good sign, right? The almost paternal comfort Lex offered Chloe, gave no sign to the raw anger boiling just under the surface of his emotions. It was a challenge keeping that rage from leaking out in his expression and tone. He wasn't angry with Chloe, far from it. When he got a hold of the psychic that had twisted her into these knots, Lex was going to make the bastard wish he had chosen a different profession.

"Thank you for the help." Chloe pushed away from Lex. If she didn't get out of there she was going to sob all over his shoulder, and she'd never be able to look herself in the mirror tomorrow if she did. "I'm right, you know. Clark is alive. I'll prove it to you."

_I wish you were right. _Lex let Chloe go without another word. Clark had left a void in his life, but somehow Chloe and the Kents had gone a long way towards filling it. Watching her walk away, Lex realized for the second time in his life that he had a real friend. Armed with a name, Lex set out in search of Chloe's psychic. Time to put the fear of God into the man who'd screwed with her emotions.

* * *

The universe ended. The stars kept shining and the world kept spinning oblivious to that fact, but the little piece of Kryptonium knew the truth.

Singing her song of peace and hope and strength into the young frightened mind of her partner, her friend, Lola wasn't prepared for what happened when Clark's head disappeared beneath the unfathomable surface of the ascendant's bath. At first nothing changed. Then like snuffing out a delicate candle flame it all ended. The dancing intricate network of light, Clark's mind, was violently ripped away. All that remained to hear her song was a dim barren empty space.

Lola had no eyes for tears or will to cry out. Withdrawing into her mind and its solitude, withdrawing into a tiny shell, which she had outgrown over the last short months, Lola could find no peace. Like an abandoned child she mourned quietly, unnoticed by anyone or anything. The one person who could truly hear her was gone.

* * *

The little park outside County General Hospital was designed to be quiet and calming, a place to mourn or pray or even just breathe. Jonathan Kent occupied one of the little wooden benches scattered around the lush green turf, but he didn't hear the territorial squawking of the blue jays or the quiet hum of a distant lawnmower. A scream, wild and afraid, echoed in Jonathan's memory.

What did the scream mean? One second Fisk had been talking, and he'd sounded so much like Clark. He'd descended into howls of agony. The man had curled into a little ball and begun beating at his own head with balled fists. What could have happened to make anyone cry out like that?

Jonathan tried not to let himself think it, but maybe they'd witnessed Clark's death through Fisk. He'd held onto his faith and hope so tenaciously over the last months but now he was scared. Why couldn't he get the scream out of his head?

"Jonathan?"

Wiping at the tears streaking his face, Jonathan turned to face his wife. Could he tell her his fears? Would she be able to listen? He didn't want to drive her away again. God, he couldn't lie to her though. "I'm scared."

Martha could hear her heart beating in her chest slow and hollow. She hadn't known what to expect when she found Jonathan's note in the kitchen. It had just said that Chloe brought a psychic out to the farm and that the man had needed to go to the hospital. Not that she believed in psychics, but Martha couldn't help wondering what the man had had to say. Now she'd found Jonathan crying. It couldn't be good news. She sank onto the bench and wrapped herself under Jonathan's warm arm. A deep breath of salty sweat intermingled with pungent fertilizer burned in her nose and into her lungs. It was a good burning, a distraction from the empty feeling in her chest. "He's just some phony psychic right? How did he scare you?"

Jonathan didn't answer at first. She hadn't heard the scream and she wouldn't be able to understand. He shook his head and squeezed Martha tight. "We can't keep living in denial. It is very possible that Clark won't ever make it home. After what I heard this morning, I'm afraid that his odds have gone down. This isn't me giving up. It's just...Clark could be dead right now and we'd never know. When are we supposed to stop hoping and having faith?"

"As long as there's reason to hope, we get to believe. I don't have a body to bury, so I'm not through having faith and waiting. Some psychic doesn't get to rob you of your hope, Jonathan." Martha framed her husband's damp cheeks with her hands and shook her head at him. "You gave me back my heart when you convinced me to believe a little and to hope for the best when this all started. You can't let that go now. I need you to help me believe."

Staring into his wife's earnest blue eyes, Jonathan couldn't tell her that his faith had shattered. He couldn't tell her to stop believing. For the first time since he heard it erupt from Fisk's throat, the scream stopped running through the back of Jonathan's brain. He wouldn't let himself think about it. For Martha, he had to let it go. "I love you so much."

Martha kissed the fresh tears on Jonathan's cheeks, one side then the other. After a long look into his mournful eyes, she claimed his mouth in a salty gentle kiss.

* * *

Kal-El, Galactic overlord, quietly contemplated the planet Azar through the only eyes he had, mechanical and clumsy video surveillance. Kal-El watched a gentle sprinkling of rain from deep purple clouds falling onto the aliens wandering the city streets. He tried not to envy them the splatters of rain on their skin and the opportunity to run for shelter.

Angrily, Kal-El pulled his consciousness back. It was a new development, thinking of himself as Kal-El. For so long, that name had meant nothing, less than nothing. It was something the Eradicator called him, never his name. Things changed though, and now he refused to think of himself as Clark Kent. That person was dead. Clark Kent could run and breathe and touch. It was less painful if he could just be dead.

The decision to bury Clark and try to function as Kal-El hadn't come quickly. He had to struggle against his anger, the murderous hate that threatened to shatter his mind. The two demons of his existence, Dessa and the Eradicator, consumed him at first. He hated them so completely that there wasn't room in him for anything else. They killed Clark, and trapped him in Hell. He could very easily have slipped into true black madness in that early time. It would have been so easy, so perfect. He could have been the insane-vote of the Galactic Over Council. In the end he didn't let go of his sanity, he held it close and began searching for a way out.

Kal-El was no child. He understood that there would be no going back for him, not to Earth anyway. He was never going to walk onto his porch and rock in his swing. Smelling his mom's herb garden or running like mad through the corn was forever beyond him. There had to be an escape from the half-existence of the Over Council though. This Hell had to end or he would go insane.

Maybe he couldn't breathe or touch or run, but Kal-El could still think and learn. He was the final stopcock to an entire civilization's amassed knowledge. As such, that knowledge was his to explore and internalize as he saw fit. Kal-El studied hard for his first council session. It would be the first step to his freedom.

A laugh bubbled up in him at the thought of freedom. The word had become synonymous with oblivion.

It seemed he was always fighting the urge to laugh lately. Hysteria maybe, or maybe he had slipped into insanity? The thought gave him pause. Would he recognize it if he had? It didn't matter. He had a plan. The plan would save him.

All he to do was start an Intragalactic War, a revolution capable of destroying the all-powerful Over Council. Kal-El, anarchist extraordinaire, was planning to annihilate an empire. It was an interestingly large price to pay for one mind's freedom.

Crazy or sane, Kal-El would be free. Soon enough it would all be over.

God help anyone who tried to stop him.

* * *

A sparkle of light where there had only been black, a glimmer of possibility, drew Lola out of herself. It was wasteful to use her energy to move or to even reach out. It was probably just a mirage. Clark was gone. Ascension had destroyed the part of him she could touch.

The glimmer shimmered through her senses again, and despite her skepticism, Lola reached for the hint of a mind.


	21. Chapter 20 To Live

**-- Chapter 20 -- To Live -- **

Pete made his way up Chloe's driveway, the gravel crunching under his slow steps. This was it. Chloe was leaving today for Metropolis. It was going to be a long summer without her, but he was glad she was going. She needed to get away from Smallville for a few months. It would be good for her to get some perspective on everything, especially Clark.

Before he could even knock, the front door opened, and Chloe poked her head out. "Pete! I forgot you were coming over."

"You think I was going to let you just leave without saying goodbye? What kind of friend would that make me?" Pete pulled Chloe into a quick hug. "It's going to be boring around here without you. So, how do I help? I'm a mean luggage carrier."

Chloe returned Pete's smile enthusiastically. "Good news on the boring front. I won't let you spend your summer cow tipping. I'm sticking around."

"What's that supposed to mean? Did the Daily Planet back out on the summer internship? I thought they were committed? That's not cool," Pete said.

Chloe's smile faded back and degree and she shrugged. "Actually, I backed out. I know you haven't exactly been in on the loop lately, but the search for Clark has heated up, and I couldn't leave in good conscience."

The search for Clark, that was all Chloe ever talked about. It had become her universe, above and beyond the Torch, even beyond her own future. "This is not healthy, girl. I loved Clark too. You need to get on that train this afternoon, ride to Metropolis, and soak in some smog. If Clark knew you were walking away from the Daily Planet for him, he'd never stand for it."

"He isn't here to stand for it, though. That's the problem," Chloe snapped. God, he sounded like Lex, telling her to let it go, telling her what Clark would have wanted as though he were dead. "If you can't be supportive, just go. Okay, Pete?"

This was going to get ugly before it got better, but he couldn't just smile and let Chloe throw her life away. "I'm being supportive – of you. Don't throw your dreams away on someone who's gone. It isn't fair to Clark's memory or to you," Pete said.

"Clark is not DEAD! I wish everyone would stop acting like he is. Maybe if I wasn't the only person who thought he stood a chance, we could have already found him. You're a quitter Pete, and you aren't much of a friend either. Go away." Chloe headed back inside and slammed her front door. She bit down on her fist and refused to cry. Her dad was taking a nap in the next room, and he didn't need a weepy teenager disturbing him. It would all be so much easier if Pete was a total ass, but he didn't deserve that attack. "I'm sorry," Chloe whispered.

Pete blinked rapidly until his eyes cleared and stared at the closed door. He'd tried right?_ I'm sorry, Clark. She always listened to you, man, not to me. She's just stubborn, and she happened to love you. Not that you ever noticed little things like that. _

"Pete?" The door had slipped open a crack and Chloe was peeking around it. "I'm sorry for what I said. I didn't mean it."

Maybe she did listen to him after all? "I know you didn't."

"You want to come in and have a soda or something? I could tell you why I decided to stay this summer. It isn't a whim."

* * *

Endless meetings, hours of political debate, voting and re-voting, Kal-El was sick of it all. Thankfully the Over Council would recess soon, a few hours of blessed freedom from bureaucracy. It wouldn't all be so annoying except for the other Over Council members. Every attempt he made to exert his will, further his goals, was blocked. They treated him like a child. Didn't they realize that he possessed the knowledge of Krypton. He was at least as powerful and informed as any of them.

Could they tell that he was their enemy? Kal-El wished he had something to throw and hands to throw it with. Hands...gleeful laughter filled him. He could have hands, couldn't he? The Eradicator had said she would be his to command after he faced the council. Until now he'd avoided that weapon. He'd had no desire to lay eyes on her ever again. Secretly he hoped she suffered, alone and waiting without a purpose. He hoped it was an agony of boredom and emptiness.

Maybe she could be of use though, if she could be made to serve reliably. Of course she could be made to serve reliably. What was he thinking? He had the knowledge of his entire civilization. Reprogramming the Eradicator to function correctly wouldn't take half a second after he got her online.

Kal-El sent out a thousand programs, seekers, to locate the Eradicator. After a lag of only a couple of seconds he had a location. Kal-El tapped into a nearby surveillance monitor and got his first look at the Eradicator since Ascension. She hadn't strayed far. Silent and motionless as a statue, she stood sentry outside the government building. Her disguise was gone, no more bruised fruit look for her. She was back to her porcelain-skinned raven-haired self.

"Eradicator, I summon you. Your master calls," Kal-El said. His voice sounded wrong, mechanical and clipped emerging from the monitor station's speakers. "Jack into the system, Eradicator. We need to talk."

Finally, he called. She feared he would leave her for an eternity without direction but also without the peace of shut-down. The Eradicator turned and thrust her hand into the network interface. _Give me direction._

"Provide me access to your AI. It's time you were repaired." Kal-El didn't waste time trying to communicate with the Eradicator in her current form. First he'd write her mind to zeros, return her to factory specs. Then they could try communicating.

She didn't question his order. Her barriers simply fell.

Kal-El examined her AI, what was left of it, and tried to figure out where to start the repair job. Lord, that was just wrong. Like a twisted knotted mess, covered in malignant tumors the AI held no resemblance to the design Kal-El had found in his store of knowledge. "So this is what sentience looks like when it's young and imbalanced and raw. I'd be killing you if I fixed you. You're skating that line between being alive and a machine." Like me. "I guess we're closer to mirror images, both in the twilight between life and death, but I'm heading out and you're clawing your way in." Did it hurt her like it hurt him? It would serve her right. "You don't get to go back to being just a machine. It's too easy. I'd be doing you a favor. I think I'll even you out a bit instead and stop some of those insane swings of logic that keep getting you in trouble."

It was more art than science, trying to fix the Eradicator's emerging mind so that it would be more stable. He didn't want to change it, at least not fundamentally. "System reinitiate... Did I break you or what?" Instead of a mind puzzle, the Eradicator took a virtual form similar to her physical body.

"Master Kal-El, you were going to repair me, yes? Did you decide to postpone my repairs?"

"I'm not a murder. Fixing you would be killing you, and you don't get oblivion when I'm the one who wants it," Kal-El said. "I was planning to fix you, and use you, but I guess that's out. You, fellow sentient being, cannot be trusted."

"What am I supposed to do? I need direction. You have to tell me what to do. Shut me down if you don't need me, but make a decision," the Eradicator pleaded. "I can't keep making decisions for myself, not with you in existence. I can't."

Clark shook his head and grinned, enjoying her confusion and desperation. "I was pretty desperate for you to listen to me not long ago. You were just a little too late with this change of heart."

"I suppose I could go to your body in the hospital facility and hope it recovers. You...he would shut me down," the Eradicator said. "Please give me a directive?"

Kal-El stared disbelievingly at the Eradicator. "My body should have died. I studied Ascension in great detail. It's a violent process that has killed every Ascendant to date."

"Kryptonians are a sturdy race. You should realize that they don't die easily," the Eradicator said. _You've found a reason you need me...tell me what you need._

A thousand possibilities, kissing Lana, hugging his mother, standing in the sun, the feel of cotton out of the dryer on his skin, all flashed through his mind in an instant. Foolish hopes and memories that could never happen, Kal-El commanded himself sternly. That wasn't how Ascension worked. "I can't go back though. I'm a copy of that mind, not the original. Maybe the body survived, but the mind was probably shredded. He'll never recover."

"Anything is possible when it comes to the Kryptonian mind," the Eradicator said.

_If you tell her what to do, she gets what she wants._ "Watch him, and if Clark Kent wakes up, bring him to me."

* * *

Eight tiny torn pieces of paper, sat in a neat little pile in the center of Lex's desk. Absently he stirred the pile of paper with his index finger.

"Are you listening to me, Lex?" Lionel snapped. He leaned forward, violating his son's personal space. "I asked you what happened to that money. Tell me, Lex."

_I spent it looking for a dead kid. _"It's my personal money, father. Go to Hell."

"Go to Hell? I will not take much more of this from you, son. You don't want to cross me too often. I might lose my patience," Lionel said.

Was he supposed to be afraid? "Go bark at someone else. The money was pocket change," Lex said. His tone held just enough boredom to spark fire in his father's eyes.

"We aren't through discussing this, Lex. I suggest you think of some better answers to my questions," Lionel said.

His father stormed out of the room like some sort of diva, slamming the door behind him. Lex snorted and pieced the papers on his desk back into their original form. You wouldn't often see a signed ten thousand dollar check ripped to shreds.

Apparently, Chloe's psychic, Jason Fisk, didn't want his money. Lex hadn't been able to get in to see the man in the hospital, and then he'd cut out of Smallville like a bat out of Hell. A letter had arrived today with the shredded check, but Lex hadn't gotten a chance to read it before Lionel stormed the office.

With a sigh, he opened the folded sheet of paper.

_Dear Mr. Luthor, _

_I apologize for leaving so abruptly. I realize you were sponsoring my endeavor to locate a certain Clark Kent and that you should have been appraised of my progress before I left Smallville. _

_I have decided to abandon this case, due to extreme emotional distress. My preliminary findings were as follows: _

_1. Clark Kent is alive.  
2. He is experiencing a level of pain that I am unable to deal with in my way of searching. _

_I wish you all the best in this endeavor, and you should find the payment your representative, Ms. Sullivan sent, enclosed. Please send any further communication to my lawyer. _

_Sincerely, _

_Jason Fisk _

Lex stared at the letter and the shredded check. Giving up the money didn't make sense. People don't tear up ten thousand dollar checks. The man had to be terrified of the possibility of having to try finding Clark again. A chill raced down Lex's spine. As impossible as it seemed, Chloe might be right. Clark might really be alive.

How was he going to find him though? Would there be anything left of his friend to find after over half a year with the Eradicator in some sadistic Hell?

* * *

A being, covered from slick head to slimy toe in fine writhing orange tentacles, made its slow stooped passage up a long brightly lit corridor. It adjusted the straps of its simple black uniform and poked its head into one of the many anonymous rooms. With a sigh that fluttered its face tentacles, the being took a seat next to the newest patient in the long-term-care hospital facility.

"Xyle, boy, you have got to find a better job. Dealing with vegetables day in and day out is deteriorating your conversational skills." With another dramatic sigh, the creature checked the readouts on his new patient. This alien had only been on the ward for a week, but Xyle was already tired of looking at it. The thing's skin was too dry and smooth, not a hint of slime anywhere. It was pale with a mess of bizarre dark-colored hairs on its head. All creatures couldn't be beautiful like him. With a proud smile, Xyle's tentacles quivered. An expression of pity flashed across his face, and Xyle spat a wad of slime into one of his hands. Carefully he smeared the oily substance over the patient's face and hair. "You look a hundred percent better now. Not as good as me but some things you have to be born with."

With a self-satisfied grin Xyle headed for the exit. It was time to get out of this tomb and find something really beautiful to look at. He was still young. It was time to party.

Beneath that fine layer of oily slime, Xyle's newest patient stirred. He blinked his eyes and snarled his nose. What was that smell, rotten fish? God, he hurt. His brain felt like a pulsing open wound. "Help me? Anyone?" The words had barely been whispers but they echoed in his brain like a thousand decibels. Bile was rising in the back of his throat, and the patient rolled over to dangle his head over the side of the bed. That was a mistake. Sure he wasn't going to drown in his own vomit, but that seemed almost preferable to the new waves of pain moving had elicited.

The patient heaved dryly, thick orange slime draining off his face. With a grimace he pushed himself back fully onto the bed. The pain in his head seemed to be fading back a little, and he tried cracking his eyes open just a bit. Soft white light greeted him without inflicting pain and he opened his eyes fully. The wall he was facing was reflective and silver. Two tired looking blue eyes in a ghost-pale face stared back at him. The foul smelling slime had plastered thick black hair to his head. The patient reached a hand out toward the wall and his reflection.

Who was that?

Who was he?

Adrenaline hit his system and his heart started beating rapidly. "Who am I? Is anyone here? Help me." He shut his eyes and tried to remember, something, anything. He balled his hands into fists, clutching the slick gray synthetic sheets. Trying to remember just made his head ache with renewed pain. "Is anyone there?!"

_Quiet now, you're only causing yourself more pain. I can hear you. This is too far for me. You have to come closer so I can help you._

"Who's there? Who are you? Do you know me?" It hurt so much. His head was throbbing again in intensifying waves. Make it stop.

A wave of mind-song, soothing and cool washed through him. _My name is Lola, and I won't be able to do this again, unless you come to me. I don't have the energy._

"Who am I?" the young man whispered. The brief song had faded though, and no more words appeared in his mind. At least the pain inside his skull had dulled. He turned to stare at his unfamiliar face and started sucking in harsh gasps of air. _I don't know who I am, and I'm hearing voices. _

"Am I insane?"

* * *

If Lola hadn't been so completely drained of energy, she'd have flown into the air and set off a beautiful light display. Nearly a week's careful prodding and coaxing had finally wakened Clark. If he weren't so far away she might have been able to push harder, faster. No use crying over wasted time and energy now.

Ascension had damaged, shocked, and bruised the mind that was Clark Kent, but it hadn't killed. All things less than death could be helped, soothed and recovered. A little energy and a little time would make all the difference in the world. Lola wasn't going to be alone again so soon.


	22. Chapter 21 A Gentle Rain

**-- Chapter 21 -- A Gentle Rain -- **

Xyle brushed his delicate orange face tentacles into a neat swirl and barred his teeth. His uniformly black fangs came together, lock and key. "Perfect, you are just too handsome. Where to go for the evening?" Somewhere with fresh plankton and loud music, would be nice, but hard to find in this side of the city. A trip to the Brine district wasn't an option either. He had to stay within thirty minutes of the hospital since he was the technician on call. There was fun to be had in that radius, right? He barely made it out the door before his patient-alert device went off beeping shrilly. "What now?" Rather than exchange his tasteful green tunic for his uniform, Xyle headed back inside to check his patient as he was. It wasn't like the ward of vegetables would be offended by his fashion sense.

* * *

Who am I?

Where is this?

Why am I alone?

Patient 3573, that was the only identification anywhere in his room. The young man ran a hand along the shiny silver wall leaving a greasy smudge of the slime he'd awoken dripping with. Angrily he wiped at the reflection of his face, the stranger. At least he wasn't hearing voices anymore. "I'm so scared."

_"Clark, stop acting like a baby." _

The young man turned to face the owner of the voice, a man with blond hair and a rugged tanned face. His hands were shoved into a pair a faded worn jeans and he smiled. _"You know you're not alone, son. Just come on home." _

"Clark? You called me Clark. Is that my name? Are you my father? I can't remember. I tried." He reached a hand out to the man, but he vanished like a ghost. Hallucinations now? Squeezing his eyes shut against the throbbing in his skull, the young man didn't bother fighting a steady stream of tears.

_"Clark, baby, have you really forgotten us? We've been waiting for you. We need you."_

With a groan he confronted the owner of the new voice, a woman with thick red hair and a kind smile. She took a step toward him and reached a hand out to his face. _"My baby, my Clark." _A moment before her hand should have touched his face, she vanished too.

Clark... Could that really be him? "Clark." The name meant nothing echoing through his mind. It was better than patient 3573. He turned back to face his distorted slimy reflection. With his index finger, he wrote Clark. A name but no identity, a head but nothing to fill it but pain, what was he supposed to do now? Part of him wanted to crawl back into the rumpled bed filling the majority of the room and just wait for someone to come. It would feel so good to rest his aching head and hide under those silky smooth sheets.

_"What's going to come though? You don't know where you are or who put you here. It could be dangerous to linger."_

"Another ghost whispering in my ear?" Clark turned to face a young man, tall and pale and very bald. Sharp intelligent eyes, over a thin sardonic grin, dared him to challenge the proffered advice. "Let me guess, brothers? Mommy and Daddy ghosts have already made their appearance."

_"Define brotherhood. There's more to it than genetics," _the ghost said. He crossed his Armani clad arms and nodded toward the door. _"I think you should probably make your move before someone makes it for you." _

"My move? I just want to know who I am," Clark whispered. He hesitated between the door and the bed. It would be so easy to just rest and wait.

_"Nothing good in life is ever easy though is it? The really good things are always hard." _This ghost was a girl, dark haired and petite, she batted her blue eyes at him and shrugged. _"Everyone's so worried, Clark. You should really hurry home."_

"I would, if I knew where home was. Why won't you tell me who I am?" Clark begged. But the ghost didn't answer. She was already gone.

_"You are who you are, man. You'll figure it out." _This ghost, a short black kid, gestured to the door and grinned. _"Get moving buddy."_

Maybe if he did what they said, the incessant hallucinations would stop tormenting him. Clark headed for the door. It opened automatically when he was a step away and he headed through into the hall outside. Long and narrow, panel after panel of chrome walls reflected a thousand copies of his pale strained face. He fingered the calf length gray shift he was wearing and frowned. It didn't seem right.

Clark looked back up and the mirror images were different. A smiling boy with dancing blue eyes and slightly curling black hair was standing there. His skin was tan with a healthy glow, and he just seemed secure, at peace. Clark's breath caught in his throat and he wrapped his arms around himself. He almost didn't see it, but this wasn't just another hallucination. "You're really Clark, me." No blinking, if he blinked, this hallucination would probably vanish like all the rest, and he didn't want to lose this one. "Aren't you going to tell me what to do? Tell me who I am, please. You know."

_"So do you."_

* * *

Heavy and dark, the sky seemed ready to empty and rain torrents. For now only a fine sprinkle of rain fell over the fields of young growing corn. Martha smiled from the porch and watched her husband make his way toward her. He was soaked to the skin and speckled with mud, but he returned her smile. "I think God has officially declared a day off," Martha called.

Jonathan nodded and joined her under the protection of the porch. "I'm glad he makes us take a day here and there. Do we have any rainy day chores saved up?"

"Nothing that can't wait," Martha said. "You need to get changed, before you catch your death."

Jonathan nodded and headed inside. Absently, he ran a hand over their cabinet of board games. Clark had always loved rainy days, especially when he was little. They would work with Martha making jelly, or play games. Rainy days were family days.

Martha joined Jonathan next to the game cabinet. "We haven't had a Yahtzee tournament in a million years." Clark won the last one.

"Clark grew out of the board games, when was it?" Jonathan asked.

"Junior high," Martha said. "He was so cute when he said, Board games are for middle schoolers." She could almost see little Clark, damp from helping his dad put the cows up, scanning the games excitedly. "Let's play one," Martha said.

* * *

Pete paused indecisively at the Kent's front door. He stood silently, listening to the rain and trying to figure out how he was going to say what he needed to say. If his dad knew he was standing here, contemplating what he was contemplating, the honorable Judge Ross would have a parental-fit. This wasn't really any of his business...but it was.

Chloe had explained her logic for assuming Clark was alive, and her reasons for skipping her internship, but it all boiled down to an irrational fantasy. Pete hadn't been able to talk her out of tossing her future down the toilet. She was convinced that she could save Clark. Well Pete could save her, maybe, with a little help from the Kents. He knocked at the door hesitantly.

When the door opened, Pete promptly forgot all the carefully planned things he was going to say. "Hi, Mrs. Kent."

"Pete, you haven't been by in forever, come on in. Jonathan and I were just considering a game of Monopoly," Martha said. "Would you like to play?" Pete let Martha usher him in and over to the kitchen table. "I guess I should have asked you why you came before I drafted you to play. What's up Pete?"

Jonathan looked up from organizing the piles of colorful money and smiled. "Pull up a seat and tell us how you're doing. Mr. Fowler at the Co Op said you were going to be unloading fertilizer this year."

"That's the plan," Pete said. Looking at them, standing there so calm and friendly, he hesitated. He couldn't do this. It wasn't his place. Whose place was it? "I came by because of Chloe and Clark too." Was he really going to say it? "I think you should have a memorial service for Clark. It would give some people a little closure. I wouldn't say anything, except Chloe is throwing her life away. An internship at the Daily Planet is a big deal and she's walking away from it to spend her summer looking for Clark. You know I loved him like a brother, but I love Chloe too." Pete blinked back the tears in his eyes and looked at his feet. "I..."

"It's okay, Pete," Martha said. She couldn't quite bring herself to smile. It was normal what he was asking. People had to get on with their lives, and it could be hard without closure. He was just looking out for Chloe, and Clark would want that. "Jonathan and I have talked about having a service, but we aren't ready."

"Will you ever really be ready?" Pete whispered.

Jonathan slowly unclenched his fists and nodded. He wasn't going to fly off the handle or cause a scene. Taking advice on how to handle his family and its crises wasn't something he'd ever been good at, but Pete meant well. "If that's all you wanted, you might ought to head on," Jonathan said. "The weather is supposed to get bad later."

Martha stepped back and mustered an encouraging smile for Pete. "We'll figure something out to help Chloe, okay? Let Jonathan and I have a talk first. I'll give you a call later."

The short walk back to his car, felt like one of the longest of his life. Pete felt like he'd alienated just about everybody today. Chloe wasn't speaking to him, since he wouldn't buy her theory and excuses for bailing on the Planet. Mr. Kent looked like he wanted to tell him where to stick his advice.

"I'm really bad at this Hero business," Pete whispered.

* * *

Clark stood staring at himself, a ghost, for what felt like an eternity. That was who he was supposed to be, and if he stared at that ghost of a smiling boy, maybe he would remember. Maybe that could be him again?

The moment ended with the hiss of a door opening and the scent of sickening brackish water. Clark gasped and blinked, losing his last hallucination. At the end of the hall, moving slowly forward, a creature was coming toward him. Orange tentacles covered the hulking being from head to foot, broken only by a reflective green swath of material covering his torso. Each appendage writhed and squirmed in rhythm with the creature's advancement. Clark didn't wait to see if this thing was friendly. He started running away down the hall.

Xyle walked back onto his ward to find a creature in the hall. His first thought had been, intruder, but then he recognized him. It was the new patient, his dry little alien. Had moisturizing him with the slime woken him up? His slime was inert though, completely nonreactive. It didn't make sense. Patients on this ward did not wake up. Oh no, it was panicking, running away. "Wait," Xyle called. "You're going to be fine."

Clark threw himself against the mirror-like window the end of the hall. He punched at the surface, but his fist just ricocheted back. The monster was going to overtake him. God the smell was overwhelming, like ripe dead fish. His head was pounding in time with his breaths and his vision doubled. "God, help me." With a scream, he punched the glass again with all his strength. This time he was rewarded with a fissure, but the monster was gaining quickly.

_"I think it's time to go for it, Clark. Stop hedging and take the risk. You don't have a lot of options." _This latest hallucination was staring critically at the small fissure in the windowpane. She shoved her feathery blond locks behind her ears and shrugged. _"Here comes big and ugly. You going to face that or what's behind door number two? Just go for it." _

Clark stared at the reflection of the monster loping towards him and tried not to shiver. If he threw himself into the glass he'd go through the window, whatever lay ahead. Maybe this was the ground floor, and maybe it wasn't.

"No," Xyle shouted. "You're going to hurt yourself or something." The patient was pounding on the window. At least there wasn't much chance he'd burst through. That was an industrial strength sheet of polymer. Oh Lord, there was a crack in the window. How strong was this critter? "Be careful! If you splat yourself, I'll lose my job!"

Clark jumped back two steps and turned to the lingering blond-girl-hallucination. "You sure this is the right thing?"

_"Not really, you are afraid of heights," _she said. The blonde grinned and shooed him toward the window. _"Good luck, Clark." _

Were hallucinations supposed to tell you what to do? Clark squinted against the pain pounding his brain and grinned back at the spot where his last hallucination had been. "Door number one, raging orange beast or mystery door number two...Well I don't remember being afraid of heights." Ducking his head protectively behind his arms, Clark ran for the window and broke through into nothing. "Oh well, not the first floor then," Clark whispered. Wind rushing over him, robbing him of his breath, he didn't even scream. If this killed him, at least the pain and confusion would end. Maybe in death he would even remember his life?

Xyle dangled out the gaping hole of the window, grasping for his patient, so close. Lord, 93 stories, that patient was definitely going to splat. "I didn't like this job anyway," he whispered. With a sigh, he headed for the emergency call button. The supervisor was going to love this._ Sir, I woke my patient up by spitting on him. Then he ran away and jumped to his doom. _The hospital would probably press criminal charges of negligence against him. He'd just have to spin the situation a bit. Xyle grimaced at his clothes and headed to change back into his uniform before he called his supervisor.

* * *

Lex Luthor with his immaculate black suit and purple silk shirt looked out of place wandering up a dirt path under giant pine trees. His destination, a little log cabin with a tendril of smoke rising slowly, didn't fit his urban attire any better. In his defense, the trip had been a rather spur of the moment decision, and he still wasn't sure what he was doing. When his father found out he'd borrowed one of the jets to zip up to Colorado, he was going to get another visit from the old man.

Lex removed his shades and knocked authoritatively at the unvarnished wooden door. "Mr. Fisk? I know you're there. I spoke with your daughter." Cautiously, Lex turned the door handle and peered inside. It was dark, the only light coming from the open door and the fireplace. "Anyone home?"

Lex stepped inside and turned a slow circle. His eyes adjusted to the smoky gloom, and he reached out to one of the many piles of junk scattered around the room. They were frames, covered in canvas. Lex chose one of the pictures and carried it out into the light. An oil painting, and not terribly good at least technique-wise, it was dark. Shades of black and gray revealed a shadowy mistress with bony blue hands.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Lex turned to face, a haggard unshaven version of Fisk, a man he'd only seen in photos until now. Without the tacky clothes, he didn't look like much of a psychic. "Mr. Fisk, I've come a long way to see you. My name is..."

"I know who you are, and I asked you to leave me be," Fisk said. _I can't deal with this, with him. _

Lex nodded and offered Fisk his painting back. "How much would it cost to get you back on the Kent case? I'm intrigued by your skills."

"What cost sanity? I can't work on the Kent case," Fisk spat. "I can't sleep without dreaming about it. I can't walk down the street without seeing her face." Twin streams of tears started coursing down his face and he cracked the painting in half. "There aren't words for what I felt in that barn. Your friend isn't dead, but I pity him...so much horror. I wish I could help you. I can't though. Please leave."

Lex would have taken out his checkbook and started writing zeros, but this man didn't want money. "Have pity then, give my friend a chance. Help him. I'll compensate you very well. Ten thousand dollars is nothing, pocket change."

"I can't help you. Just GO!" Fisk shouted. He stormed away and slammed his door.

Lex slid his shades back in place and collected the broken painting. "There are other ways to persuade you Mr. Fisk," Lex whispered. He didn't want to hurt Fisk or extort him. He wanted to find Clark more than he wanted to keep his hands clean though. "Sometimes, you just have to find a man's weak spot and then you just squeeze until it bleeds." If he only knew, Lionel would be proud.

* * *

It was the delicate splatters of cold rain, running over his skin that told Clark he wasn't dead. It seemed like he'd fallen forever. Clark opened his eyes and stared up at the building he'd escaped. It was actually beautiful, just as reflective on the outside as it was on the inside; it flowed toward the clouds like a giant's talon. With a groan, he pulled himself forward, out of the crater his landing had left in the street. There were no onlookers to gape at him or point at the living projectile.

The cool rain felt so good, gently washing away the slime and smell from before. Clark turned his face toward the sky and began to walk through the night. He didn't know where he was going or what lay ahead, but at least his head didn't hurt nearly as much, and no hallucinations were harassing him.

A fuzzy little creature with six legs and crazy purple fur strolled casually past him. "Good evening."

Clark stared at the alley-cat-like creature. The accent was strange, almost unintelligible, but it had definitely spoken to him. It wasn't the language his hallucinations had used, but he understood it. "Good evening?"


	23. Chapter 22 On the Street

**-- Chapter 22 -- On the Street -- **

The Eradicator spent the first hours following her audience with Kal-El alone, perched atop one of the highest buildings in the city. Like a beautiful gargoyle, she crouched, her flowing hair the only giveaway that she wasn't stone. Kal-El had called her a living being and had refused her the peace of mechanized thought. He had left her alone in the sea of confusion her mind was rapidly becoming. She should have gone to Clark straight away as she had been commanded, but she had manipulated the command from Kal-El. It was her desire, and she should never follow her own desire.

Why couldn't she just have peace, the peace of knowing what was right, by virtue of not understanding the concept of right and wrong? It had been so simple when the only truth was the command of the master, when the only need had been that of Krypton.

Without Kal-El's help, she could never have that peace again, and he would never give it to her. "You're pouting like a snubbed child," the Eradicator whispered. "You have a duty and a directive."

Weary in her mind and sick in her new untried heart, the Eradicator rose from her crouch. It was time to start her new directive, past time really. She would watch over Clark as his silent protector. She would follow her master's command and do her duty. The incessant thoughts and desires might remain, but she could resist them. She was still the Eradicator.

A flash of black against the early morning twilight, the Eradicator went to face her new responsibility.

* * *

Chloe stared at her reflection critically in the bathroom mirror. She needed a haircut. Her choppy locks were heading down her back, and the flip up feathery thing wasn't working like it was supposed to anymore. Well, she wasn't cutting it herself, and it was too late in the day to head down to Ms. Betty's beauty salon. "Stop girl, you don't get to invent another excuse to not do this." A haircut didn't count as a valid excuse for not facing Lex today, assuming she could even find the elusive fellow.

With a final adjustment to her black linen pants and pale pink blouse, Chloe headed for the door. Mentally, she arranged her game plan for the summer and the points she would need financial support on. Resolutely, she ignored the twinge inside that warned she was becoming too indebted to Lex. It was hard not feeling a little like a beggar, using Lex for his money. At first, when Lex thought they were going to really find Clark, it hadn't felt wrong. But now...could she really keep asking for his help?

"Daddy! I'm out of here for a little while," Chloe called. She could just hear the sound of bacon crackling on the stove. Chloe didn't wait for her dad to answer instead she headed outside onto the porch. It was such a perfect day: shining sun, crisp breeze, chirping birds, almost too perfect. Chloe scowled at the white splatters, presents from the oh-so-chirpy birds, dotting her dad's car. The little off white Toyota wasn't alone in the driveway though. Unless she missed her guess, that was the Kent's blue Chevy. Chloe heard the door squeak behind her and she turned quickly. "Mrs. Kent, hi."

"Good, I caught you," Martha said. "I came to see you, you know. Your dad was just telling me about the internship you won at the Daily Planet. He's very proud of you. I imagine you know that though."

"Sure he is, but he's biased." Chloe smiled and nodded, uncertainly. The Kents were nice people, but she'd never really been close with them, even after Clark disappeared and she spent so much time and effort looking for him. "You came to see me?"

"That's right," Martha said. "I know about all the hard work you've done, looking for Clark. You really care about him, and that is a wonderful gift. I know Clark would thank you if he were here." Martha faltered and shrugged. She and Jonathan didn't often fight, but they'd fought about Chloe. How were they supposed to convince her to stop looking for Clark and live her life? Martha's idea was simple: tell her the truth. "Would you like to take a drive with me, maybe?" Jonathan hadn't been easy to convince. Actually, he still wasn't convinced. Instead of sticking around to help, he'd headed out to till the east fields without a word to her this morning. He'd had his say, and in the end, Martha had threatened to tell Chloe anyway, whether he agreed or not. The girl had looked too long and hard for them to keep shutting her out now that her efforts on Clark's behalf were hurting her. Jonathan just didn't see it that way.

"Okay," Chloe said. "Want me to drive, or will you?"

* * *

A little niche between two buildings, dark and damp but also secluded and safe, served as the sanctuary for one confused amnesiac alien. Clark sat quietly relishing freedom from pain if not from hunger or confusion. He was going to have to do something soon about the hunger. His stomach had started making loud gurgling noises that morning. He'd spent most of the night, running over the things he knew to be true: he was patient 3573, possibly named Clark, he was prone to hallucinations and hearing voices, he could survive long falls, and cats could talk. Well the last one wasn't certain. Could he really assume that cats talked? Maybe that had been another hallucination? Could he trust anything he saw?

The hallucinations had been different than the cat though. He'd known they weren't real, and now they'd abandoned him. Where was a good hallucination when you needed some advice? With a determined sigh, Clark made his way to the edge of the alleyway and peeked his head around the corner.

The quiet abandoned streets of the night were now filled with...not people, creatures. Clark stayed back, well out of sight and just watched. He wasn't terrified like he'd been at first when the streets first came to life. It had taken some time to realize that those things weren't concerned with him. He might as well be invisible. Now he just stared in rapt silence from the safety of his niche. The creatures were all so different. He couldn't help wondering how the giants kept from accidentally squashing the smaller creatures, or how any of them could communicate what they were trying to do. After a while he started to see a pattern, the little creatures stayed right in the walking path, while the largest stayed strictly left. What made it confusing were the more mid-sized creatures weaving their way amongst the others without any seeming pattern.

Not one of the pedestrians looked like him. Sure, some of them walked upright, even on two limbs, but there would be a radical difference, usually several: plumage, glowing eyes, or iridescent scales. It didn't matter how freakish they all were. He couldn't stop looking for someone like himself. People like him obviously existed somewhere. If he could find them, they would help him, wouldn't they?

Clark's stomach made itself heard again with a deep hollow growl._ I need food, and I need help. _The question of the hour was how to go about finding either.

* * *

Chloe stretched her hand out the truck window and let it sail up and down in the wind. "So, how is the farm? I heard that you guys signed a good deal with Lex."

Martha nodded and flexed her fingers around the steering wheel. "Good news travels fast. Lex has been very kind." Martha could hear the words in her head, different ways to tell Chloe everything, but nothing felt right. Maybe she was wrong, and Jonathan was right? "I guess you're curious about why I showed up on your doorstep this morning."

"A little," Chloe said. It had to be about Clark and her campaign to find him. Part of her wanted Mrs. Kent to thank her and praise her, to tell her that what she was doing was wonderful and selfless. Somehow she doubted that's what this was going to be. Mrs. Kent had opened up pretty quickly with a mention of the old Daily Planet internship, and Chloe figured this was going to be a polite request for her to look after her future. Pete had probably instigated it all. He was determined to nip her summer plans in the bud.

"I can pretty much guarantee that it isn't what you think. Pete's really worried about you, and he came to see Jonathan and I about you skipping your internship." Martha could see Chloe rolling her eyes. "Don't be angry with Pete for looking out for you. He's trying to be a good friend."

"I'm not mad at Pete for looking out for me," Chloe said._ I'm mad because he won't believe that Clark's alive._ "I'm not mad about anything." Chloe frowned out the window. They were pulling into the Kent's driveway. "What are we doing anyway?"

"I'm going to show you something, give you a gift that Clark always wanted you to have, but we never let him share it. We just wanted to keep him safe. It's still all we ever wanted." Martha killed the truck and threw her door open.

Chloe felt a chill race up her spine. A gift Clark wanted her to have? What could Mrs. Kent possibly be talking about? "Okay, a gift?" Chloe followed Mrs. Kent into the yard and across to the storm cellar.

Martha felt her heart racing and she hesitated. Could she do this? Was this the right thing? "I'm sorry." Martha wiped at the tears pooling in her eyes. "I don't know if this is the right thing. If I tell you this and show you this, you can't ever tell anyone. You have to swear to me."

The gift was a secret. Chloe felt a calmness wash through her. The mysterious Clark Kent had secrets. Everyone who knew him at all could see that. "I'd never hurt Clark or tell his secrets. I think I've proved my friendship and loyalty."

"That you have," Jonathan said.

Martha felt a sob swelling in her at the sound of her husband's voice. He pushed the door to the storm cellar open and joined his wife. "Are you really okay with this?" Martha whispered.

Jonathan shrugged and took Martha's hand. "I trust your instincts, and Clark would never forgive us if we let Chloe blow off the Daily Planet for a wild goose chase."

"What wild goose chase? You've given up on him too. I didn't think you ever would," Chloe said.

"You don't understand. We know where Clark is, who the Eradicator is, and why you're never going to find him no matter how hard you look," Martha said. With Jonathan standing beside her, supporting this decision, the words came so much easier.

"You know where Clark is?" Unspeakably outlandish possibilities started floating through Chloe's mind. Maybe the Kents were in on this with the Eradicator? Maybe Clark was dead. Chloe couldn't help staring at the storm cellar. Were they going to show her a corpse down there? Angrily, Chloe squashed that line of reasoning. It didn't make sense. The Kents weren't insane or Machiavellian, and they loved Clark. Unbidden, another possibility immediately took the place of the last. Maybe Clark was really a meteor mutant, and he'd gotten out of control. Maybe they had him in the storm cellar to keep him from wreaking havoc, but then where did the Eradicator tie in? "Tell me what you know before my imagination creates anything else for this to be." If they didn't tell her, this hinting was going to drive her crazy.

"You won't find Clark because the Eradicator took him home." Martha looked up at Jonathan. The right words had abandoned her again.

"Clark is an alien, Chloe," Jonathan said. "He came down with the meteor shower."

* * *

Four strong but delicate hands covered in gold and platinum jewelry rested together on a clear crystal table. Aislinn, the owner of those four hands, blinked her ebony eyes and stretched like a cat, pieces of jewelry tinkling as they slid down her arms. The crimson material dripping from her ample curves accented her pink skin and its streaks of black. She grimaced at the bright white sun and shook out the wild turfs of black hair covering her scalp and forearms.

Tiredly she wandered over to her window to seal out the sun and get some sleep. It had been a long night. If she'd shut the window without looking out onto the street she would never have seen it, the lost puppy skulking in her alley. She did look though. It was the hospital gown that caught her eye first, but the look in his eyes was unmistakable. Aislinn felt no pity for the fear or the hunger in those eyes. There were a hundred thousand homeless aliens wandering the streets of this planet and they were all afraid and starving to one degree or another. She did feel the thrill of possibility. He was exotic and moved with grace that implied physical strength. She had customers who would be interested in such a delectable piece of flesh.

Granted, she'd need a closer look to make sure he was as tasty as he seemed. Not to mention that he might not be interested in her type of employment. Aislinn grinned when she got another look at those eyes, confused, scared. He needed help, a good Samaritan to come to his rescue. "Look out, little puppy. Here I come."

* * *

Dark circles, slumped shoulders, drooping eyelids, Lex looked like pure Hell. Absently shining coffee mugs, Lana watched her silent partner surreptitiously. She didn't know what he was doing, why he'd been camped out in one of the back booths all day, but her curiosity was getting the better of her. She snapped up one of her newly shined mugs and filled it with coffee.

Lex stared at the photos strewn across the table in front of him. He'd found Fisk's weak spot. The smell of blood was practically in the air. His daughter was in college on scholarship, incredibly vulnerable. The man really seemed to love her, to want the best for her. Lex shifted the pictures: a little girl hugging her dad, an older girl throwing her mortar board at graduation. Could he really threaten this girl to control the father? Was that really in him? Lex rubbed at his eyes wearily. He'd been from Smallville to Colorado and back again in less than twenty-four hours, and now he had to decide, to extort or not to extort. Were you supposed to make vital life decisions when heavily jet-lagged?

"Coffee?" Lana asked. She felt a little stupid standing there with an unasked for steaming mug. "Sorry, I know you didn't order it."

"Maybe, it'll do me some good," Lex said. The coffee did feel good, hot and bitter in his mouth. "Thanks." Lana Lang, High-School-princess and bearer of coffee, reminded him why he was contemplating this mess. This girl was Clark's dream, and Lex meant for him to get a chance to have it.

Lana knew that this was the part where she smiled and walked away, but she lingered. "You can tell me to go away if you want, but it's pretty slow right now, and I'm a good listener."

"I must look pretty pathetic," Lex said. "It's jet lag I assure you, nothing to worry about." Jet lag and nefarious machinations could be truly draining. Lex smirked to himself and downed the rest of the coffee. Clark would never approve of this little plot. He would probably be quite appalled. "I think I've just decided to sleep on this little project. Hit it with a fresh mind tomorrow."

"Well good luck with it," Lana said. She retreated back behind her counter and watched Lex make his exit. Sometimes it was hard to believe that he was only twenty-one. Lana caught Lex's eye as he glanced over his shoulder, and she shivered. Sometimes he just seemed so very old.

* * *

A bed neatly made up in a room devoid of light, accused with its emptiness. The Eradicator stood silently staring as though Clark might reappear if she waited and willed it to be so. The command had been simple, watch over Clark and wait for his recovery. She'd botched her first order from Kal-El, and now she was frozen in the agony of that failure. She had to snap out of it. She was **THE** Eradicator. She'd held men's hearts in her fist, ravaged worlds, annihilated civilizations. "You are not a woman...not alive...not weak," she whispered. This was no time to surrender to emotion. Logic would salvage this debacle. Reporting failure to Kal-El was not an option. If she had to live with these distracting paralyzing emotions, then she would learn to be their master. She had conquered greater things.

"First, I'll find out what happened here. Comatose Kryptonians do not vanish, and I don't fail."


	24. Chapter 23 The Kindness of Strangers

**-- Chapter 23 -- The Kindness of Strangers -- **

A laugh, strangled and weak, emerged from Chloe's lips. "That wasn't a funny joke. Clark came down with the meteor shower, not even funny." They weren't laughing though. The Kents were just standing there, hand in hand, waiting. "I don't appreciate being jerked around."

"I know this is a big thing to just throw at you, but it's true," Martha said. "I could understand if you were angry or if you didn't want to believe us." Martha frowned and shrugged. It wasn't like she could ask Clark to bench press the truck and prove it to her. "Wait, I know. Would you like to see his spaceship? It's in the cellar. That's why I drug you out here in the first place. It's the only proof that we have."

"You have his ship in the storm cellar? You have an alien spacecraft in your storm cellar?" Chloe barely managed to stop herself from paraphrasing again. They were leaving her behind and going down. What was she waiting for? It was either true or they were crazy.

Stepping into the musty cellar, Chloe wasn't sure what to expect, the truth, some strange lie. It looked like a ship, kind of dusty and innocuous, sitting there on its side. "It's a real spaceship? Can I touch it?" It was paper-mache or scrap metal. That was not a freaking spacecraft.

"You can touch it, beat it with a sledgehammer, whatever you'd like. It's pretty durable. We haven't been able to open it and we've been trying for over a decade," Jonathan said. Chloe didn't believe them. He could see it her posture and the look in her eyes. She probably thought they were insane.

Chloe crouched next to the odd little oblong craft and ran a hand along its edge. It was cool and smooth like aluminum, but tingly too as though something was humming beneath the surface. Real? Tears trickled from her closed eyes. It couldn't be a real spaceship, and Clark couldn't be an alien. Chloe could see him in her mind's eye, blue eyes sparkling with mischief, strong muscular hands lifting her onto the Torch's float in the homecoming parade. That moment had sealed it for her, touching him, smelling him, feeling the strength in him. Clark, her best friend, had become her unattainable dream. He was a Greek-God-farm-boy not an alien.

Even if he were an alien, he wouldn't have left. Would he? "If you're telling the truth, and I'm not saying that you are, Clark just left? He just went back to wherever he came from and thumbed his nose at the rest of us. I thought he cared about us. How could you let me look so hard if he just left, and you knew I wasn't going to find him?"

Martha and Jonathan exchanged a shocked look. "We weren't very clear about what happened I guess," Martha said. "Clark didn't want to go. The Eradicator made him go. She was strong and dangerous, a weapon. She hurt you and threatened everyone he loved. Clark left to keep everyone safe."

Jonathan nodded and wrapped his arm around Martha protectively. "Clark had a plan to take the Eradicator down, but it's been so long. We don't know what that thing ultimately wanted from Clark or if he's okay. We don't know if he'll make it home or what's happening to him."

Chloe rolled her eyes and threw her hands up. "I should have known. Clark always does the noble thing. I don't understand you though. You just let him go with a half-baked plan and prayer. Why didn't you ask for help? The Eradicator, you let her take him," Chloe said. She came to her feet, hands clenched into white fists. "Didn't you love him enough to stop him from throwing his life away?" Chloe didn't...couldn't wait for the Kents to make their excuses. "I'm going home, and I don't need a ride."

"Wait," Jonathan called. "You're not going to do something foolish."

Chloe paused halfway up the stairs, and she turned. The morning sun surrounded her like a fiery corona. "Foolish? I'm not going to tell your secrets if that's what you mean. Whether that's foolish or not, I can't tell you. I'm too angry to be clear on that right now."

Martha felt Jonathan leave her side to follow Chloe, and she sank to her knees. It was true, everything she said, all the accusations. They were things Martha had whispered to herself those first nights after Clark had gone. "Jonathan, let her go. Just let it go."

The road, dusty and long, stretched out in front of Chloe and her impractical shoes, but she hardly even cared. So what if she was going to have blisters the size of Texas, Clark was an alien and he was gone and she was so angry. How could he have just gone, without a word, without even asking for help? He said goodbye though. Chloe flinched and nodded to herself. He came to see her in the hospital, and she hadn't seen it then, but he was saying goodbye. He'd known he wasn't going to show up the next morning to give her an exclusive interview, and he was scared that he wouldn't be there to keep her safe.

"Damn you," Chloe screamed. She wished Clark were there for her to hit, to pummel with all the strength of her frustration. "I hate you! You don't get to be noble and perfect, and you don't get to leave. You could have trusted me!" As suddenly as it came, the anger in her chilled, and Chloe's hand went over her mouth. The image of her psychic, writhing in agony, begging, screaming, jumped out in her mind's eye. The simple truth remained the same. Her friend Clark was alive and in deep trouble. The only difference was, now Chloe understood that she couldn't save him. It didn't matter how hard she looked or how much Lex spent, this game was being played too far away.

"There isn't anything I can do? I guess, part of me is glad. I don't know if that makes me a bad person, but I was getting tired of looking, of being the only person who thought you were alive. I think it does make me a bad person, maybe. I guess we can't all be perfect. I'm only human."

Chloe bent down and unbuckled her shoes. She stepped off into the grass on the shoulder and sighed, high-heeled sandals dangling from her fingers. Now she just had to figure out what to say to Lex. He was going to want to know why her plans for the summer had changed. Well at least she had a long walk to think about it.

An old fencerow that she could just picture Clark perched on, stretched across a field of young corn, and Chloe smiled wistfully. "Okay, I don't hate you. I guess I still love you, Clark Kent, alien, farm boy, whatever you are. If you ever make it back..." Fisk's agonized face flashed through her mind again. "I'm going to tell you all about it when you make it back."

* * *

A loud grumble like an angry animal followed by sharp incessant hunger pains had Clark considering making his way into the mad rush of foot traffic he'd been watching for hours. He could keep moving until he found someone to help. Someone would help him.

"Hello little one, do you need some help?"

Just breathe. If it wanted to attack it probably would have while it had the advantage of surprise. Something had taken notice of him, so what? He did need help. Clark turned slowly until he was facing the owner of the low husky voice. So tall, he had to look up to meet this creature's shimmering black eyes. Her pink skin was coarsely grained as though she'd been painted in pastels. "What are you?" Clark whispered.

"Who are you would be the polite question." She stroked at the tufts of black hair covering her forearms, rearranging them absently. "Would you like to have some breakfast with me? I was feeling a bit lonely and tired after working all night." She gestured toward a door in one of the buildings with two of her four hands.

_I don't even know your name, _Clark almost said. He wasn't very sure of his own name at the moment though. His stomach growled again loudly and hit bit at his lip. "Why do you want to have breakfast with me? You don't know me, and I'm not the same type of creature as you."

"My name is Aislinn Laviscia Pythias. You may call me Aislinn, and I have a soft spot in me for little lost aliens. Join me if you will, I'm too tired to coax you," she said. Proximity had not tarnished her first impressions of this one. He really was exquisite with a fine porcelain pattern to his skin and a full dark mop of hair. The eyes were the clincher, blue but not cold. Those eyes held fire. They were the eyes of the young, lost and confused, but innocent and unassuming too. He could be an incredibly valuable commodity.

_"I..." You're going to starve to death wandering the streets if you turn your back on this. Be brave. She isn't going to hurt you. _Clark stared at this woman, Aislinn, and tried to fathom her through the black puddles she called eyes. They gave away nothing though. "I'm just Clark."

* * *

A pair of lovely white hands methodically scraped a layer of fish-smelling greasy slime from themselves. The Eradicator smiled as she cleaned the mess away. The nurse at fault for losing Clark would think twice before he neglected another patient. Xyle had begged for mercy before she finished, but he hadn't been able to help her on her search.

The Eradicator grinned and kicked at the groaning puddle of orange goop at her feet, what was left of Xyle. "I have an entire planet to search thanks to your incompetence. Would you like to live?" A strangled gargle emerged from his misshapen face. "I'll take that as a yes. If you ever speak of this encounter, or cause trouble for me by involving any law enforcement agencies, I will remove each slimy tentacle from your hide and feed them to you. Afterwards... well you get the idea. Be good, Xyle."

The Eradicator paused in the window and closed her eyes. New plans and possibilities flashed past her mind. When the epiphany came, it was an amazing thrill, like a light coming on in the dark. She turned to the broken Xyle. "I think I know how to find him after all. Isn't that lovely?"

* * *

Clark dipped a finger hesitantly into the thick gray jelly-like substance Aislinn had presented him with and tasted it. "Sweet and tangy," he said.

Aislinn nodded and scooped a mass out of her bowl with three fingers. "It isn't wonderful, but it will fill up the empty spot inside."

Once Clark started eating in earnest he didn't stop until the bottom of the bowl was glistening up at him. He licked each of his fingers clean and sighed deeply. "Thank you so much. I was starving."

Aislinn nodded and continued her meal at a more sedate pace. "I can tell. Please don't think I'm prying, but do you have papers or maybe someone to call for help?" If this child had papers, she would be shocked beyond belief. "You know identification papers?"

Staring at the table, Clark shrugged helplessly. "I don't think so. I just don't remember much. I'm not even sure my name's Clark. I was having hallucinations when I first woke up and one of them, well all of them, called me Clark. Then I ran away and ended up on your doorstep."

"Very lucky for you, finding my doorstep, because I can help you, dear. You're going to need work and a place to stay. Without papers or money, that's near impossible to do," Aislinn said. She reached out and patted Clark's hand gently. "First we need to know what species of alien you are, before I can help you. Would you like my help?"

Clark hesitated. He couldn't say no. He needed her help desperately. "I don't understand what you get out of this. Why help me?"

"Honestly, I think you have a nice look. That is important in my line of work," Aislinn said. "Before you start with any more questions, let me see your hand." She took one of Clark's hands and placed it on a small translucent scanner. The scanner was her most prized possession. It separated her from the lower class whores wandering the streets. Rendering pleasure was nearly impossible if you didn't understand the alien you were working with. "You don't remember what species you are I suppose." Aislinn grinned and looked down at the display. That was impossible. She stared hard at the display and the species it had determined her lost puppy to be. Nervously she told it to rescan, but it flashed the same data. Kryptonian? Her lost puppy could not be a Kryptonian. There weren't any left.

"What is it? Is something wrong?" Clark asked. "Did it tell you anything about me?"

"No dear, I think it must be broken," Aislinn whispered. It wasn't broken though. This was an unreal occurrence. The money this boy, a truly unique commodity, would bring at an underground auction...It would be more than enough for her to retire. No more aliens sweating alcohol on her, no more bouts of Fernien VD, this was a miracle, but it would take time to set up. "You get some rest for now, and we'll talk this evening, okay?"

Clark nodded and yawned. "You've been so kind. Thank you. I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't come along."

Aislinn nodded and tried not to let her pure glee shine through. Instead, she marshaled her face into maternal concern. "Please don't speak of it. You are a darling child, and I only hope I'll be able to help you."

* * *

A dull little blue rock languished on a shelf gathering dust. The stooped mole-like workers moved around it, oblivious to the being trapped inside. Lola had failed miserably in her every attempt to restock her severely depleted energy. She was stuck in a hole, a laundry devoid of light. The whole situation was maddening. God knew what was happening to her Clark while she couldn't even reach out.

"Little Lola, you're right where I thought you would be," the Eradicator whispered. She took the piece of Kryptonium and blew at the dust coating it. She wrapped her hands around the rock and began directing energy towards it. "This won't be as pleasant or tasty as drinking from Clark or even the sun, but as a rapid infusion of energy is necessary, I suspect you will endure."

Lola couldn't have complained if she had wanted to. A little pain was an acceptable price, to restore her energy.

"I need your help little Lola. Your friend, Clark, is lost in the big bad city alone. Who knows what state of mind he's in or what he's gotten himself into? You have to help me find him, so that we can protect him. You may not believe it, but I do want to protect him. I'll be the first to admit, ascension might have been a mistake, but I'm seeing things clearer now."

Lola wished she were fully charged so she could float away from the psychotic weapon who had instigated the entire mess they were entangled in. Unfortunately, she was going to need some help if she was going to locate her friend. Vibrating out the words would be a waste of energy, but it was necessary.

"I can find him, Eradicator."


	25. Chapter 24 A Moment to Trust

**-- Chapter 24 -- A Moment to Trust -- **

An obscenely low cut emerald body suit covered Aisllin's generous smooth curves. With a critical eye to her reflection, she added chains of gold and platinum. She needed to look prosperous and polished for this meeting with Laluc. The bastard would try to take her priceless discovery away if he thought he could, but she could never arrange the auction without his help. An auction for one of the rarest commodities in the universe, a live Kryptonian, it was still hard to believe her good fortune.

After a cautious peek into her spare bedroom to confirm her Kryptonian's continued slumber, Aisllin locked the bedroom door behind her. A delicate ring-chime filled the room and she rushed over to the door. Composing herself before opening the door, she fluffed her spiky hair and jangled her jewelry. A wave from her hand set the door sliding open and she smiled seductively at the alien on her doorstep.

Laluc wasn't tall, standing barely four feet high. His gentle violet skin was covered in yellow speckles. He held up a hand, partially webbed with only three fingers and a long highly articulated thumb. "You called angel?" His broad fish-like eyes stared up at her unblinking. "I came just as soon as I could get away."

Aisllin rubbed at her visitor's slick head and dropped down to one knee. "I do appreciate you darling, Laluc. I need your help. Could you, perhaps, organize an auction, the kind a real Sorian would attend? It would be a personal favor, and I would be very grateful," Aisllin purred.

Like a predator scenting blood, Laluc's mind clicked into active mode. "You have a rare alien specimen? What species? Is it intelligent? Maybe, is it a good pet species? I need to know a few things so I can get the right bidders together." He leaned into Aislinn's rhythmic stroking of his scalp. "I do have a reputation. If I bring a Finnian to the wrong auction, I could lose a thumb and future business."

"I can't tell you the species, but it is intelligent. The serious collectors will be interested." Aislinn intensified the massage to Laluc's scalp over-stimulating his pleasure centers.

With lightning speed rivaling Clark's own, Laluc seized Aislinn's hand. The whore thought she could use him? "Don't try to play me, girl. You know the species, you tell me," he hissed.

Aislinn had been afraid of this. He wasn't going to let this go with a vague description or a few head rubs. She'd have to offer him a percentage. "I'll give you ten percent, it's my best offer," she hissed.

"Straight to a percentage? Is it that valuable then, girl?" Laluc said. "Tell me the SPECIES!"

Goddess help her, Aislinn struggled, trying to free herself from Laluc's grip. She could feel the sticky secretion of neurotoxins seeping from his pores. The son of a... Let her brain turn to jelly or give him the information? "Damn you. Stop, you don't have to do this. He's a Kryptonian, a real one. I swear it's true."

Laluc didn't let go or let up. "If he is a Kryptonian, he's worth quite a bit, but I doubt you have him speciated correctly. Intelligent bipeds are in high demand whatever the species. Either way, I don't see that I need you, angel."

The poison was burning its way up her arm, and she couldn't break Laluc grip. "No! You genetic throwback!" Wildly, she beat at his head and neck, her fists making no headway against the thick armor immediately under his skin. Her vision started to blur. Aislinn barred her teeth and spat at her murderer. Then, out of nowhere, she was free.

"Don't touch her, you freak."

Aislin's vision cleared and she was gifted with a unique sight. Her extra bedroom's door was resting on the wrong side of the room, and dearest Laluc, suspended by his neck in the center of her living room, was gasping for air. Clark had looked exquisite and appealing when she'd seen him in the alleyway, but standing there empowered and defending her, he was a God. For an instant, she was tempted to keep him. "You need me, Laluc," Aislinn whispered. She used a different language, a street version of Galactic Standard that hopefully Clark wouldn't understand. "He trusts me, and you'll never contain him without me. Do you still doubt his heritage?" Switching languages, Aislinn rose slowly. "Clark, he's a customer of mine, and he got a little out of control. He's sorry. Aren't you Laluc, dear?"

"A customer?" Clark whispered. He had heard the fight despite being deeply asleep, and instinctively he'd focused his eyes to look through the door. Protecting his friend hadn't been a hard decision. "What is it you do, Aislinn?"

"I'm in service, specialized," Aislinn said. "It is an honorable profession."

Clark placed the alien he'd been subduing on the ground and stepped back. "Could you be more specific? Maybe it's my screwy memory, but I don't know what you mean by that."

Silly innocent... "I'm a courtesan," Aislinn said.

Laluc laughed hoarsely at that comment and shrugged. "Loosely defined, maybe. Courtesan implies education and refinement that you only aspire to."

Aislinn turned a cold stare his way and barred her teeth. "I suggest you reconsider your attacks, Laluc. That is if you wish to remain partners."

Clark watched the interchange between these two beings skeptically. Laluc, or whoever he was, seemed dangerous and angry. "Are you sure you're okay with him?"

"Give me a solar cycle to set things up," Laluc said. He used street Galactic Standard, following Aislinn's lead. Inside he was seething. A doxy from the street was dictating terms to him. This girl didn't know who she'd picked a fight with. "Ten percent is acceptable..."_ for the moment. _

Clark watched Laluc until the door closed behind him, and he crossed his arms over his chest. He turned a possessive look toward Aislinn. "I don't like him at all."

"It isn't about liking the customers. It is about getting paid for your work," Aislinn said. She patted Clark's arm went to her sink to scrub what she could of the toxin off her skin. "Laluc always pays, and in the end that makes him a good customer."

"He was killing you, though, wasn't he? This courtesan business seems a little dangerous," Clark said. "You should be more careful." His one and only friend had almost gotten herself killed and she was acting like it was nothing. It was something to him though. Maybe it was selfish, but he needed her.

Aislinn nodded and turned to grin down at Clark, inspiration striking. "You could protect me. I've never had a bodyguard." It would be something to keep her pet busy until the deal with the auction came through, and a way to keep her safe. It was brilliant. "Fair trade, room and board in exchange for your bodyguarding skills. I was planning to offer to train you as a courtesan, but with your strength." She pointed to her crumpled bedroom door. "I would feel so very safe with you watching over me."

Clark nodded, his posture straightening unconsciously. It was the first thing that had felt right since waking up with no memories. He could be a bodyguard, a protector. "If you think I'd make a better bodyguard than a courtesan? Well, you would know. I could protect you. I'd be honored."

* * *

Marble steps leading up to arched mahogany doors, Lex's house had the distinct air of a medieval church. Chloe could almost imagine that she was back in the Middle Ages coming to confession, when climbing those steps. She wasn't here to confess though. She was here to lie. Chloe pushed her self-disgust aside and tried to focus on the task at hand.

Without bothering to use the doorbell, Chloe slipped through the front door. She knew where she was going, and the housekeeper always made her nervous. Through the museum quality beauty and up the gently curving staircase, Chloe crept quietly. It was easy to move silently as long as you stayed on the thick oriental rugs and off the shiny marble or wood.

The door to Lex's office was just barely ajar, and Chloe ducked her head around. The speech she planned to deliver was on the tip of her tongue, but Lex was asleep. With his head lolled forward resting on his chest, he almost looked like a child, tired from playing. The dark circles under his eyes weren't childlike though. His normally immaculate attire was rumpled and wrinkled.

Chloe frowned and hesitated over the threshold. He looked so exhausted like the weight of the world was resting on his shoulders. And she was here to lie to him, to shut him out. It didn't feel right or fair. Lex cared about Clark as much as anyone else. He'd spent the GNP of a small country looking for him. Didn't that count for anything? Were the Kents planning to keep their secrets forever?

"Hello," Lex said. His voice barely carried above a whisper and he sat up straight.

Chloe met Lex's gray green eyes and her breath caught in her throat. She'd been so busy contemplating how unfair things were that she'd missed Lex's awakening. He didn't seem childlike or innocent when he stared like that. "Hi, Lex. Didn't want to wake you there. Sorry for sneaking up on you."

"Not a problem," Lex said. "I was just getting a few things in order and losing my fight with a bit of jet lag. What can I do for you?" It had become a knee jerk reaction with Lex, when he saw Chloe he tried to guess what new hair-brained scheme she'd devised to find Clark. Today he'd just thought about Fisk, and what he was going to do about the knowledge that man had brought to the table. Chloe, like Clark, would not approve of extortion, and Fisk was her discovery.

_I'm going to lie to him. _"Actually, I came by to..."_ ...lie to you...I can't do it. I can't stand here and tell him I think Clark's dead and that I'm going to Metropolis for the summer. I can't. _"The truth is..." _I can't tell you the truth. I promised, and it isn't my secret. _"I'm going to Metropolis, Lex. I called my sponsor at the Daily Planet and they hadn't called the first alternate for my internship." Chloe walked forward and took the seat across from Lex. She pulled the chair as close as she could. "I can't tell you why I'm going. I can't tell you the truth. You deserve the truth, and I think you should ask for it."

The truth? The fogginess clinging to Lex's brain was gone with a rush of adrenaline. What had Chloe discovered? "What do you know? You can tell me, Chloe. After we've worked together on this for so long, I thought we were a team."

It was hard to deny Lex something as little as the truth when he was looking so perfectly handsome and earnest. Chloe felt tears swimming in her eyes. How had Clark ever gone through his life like this, lying to everyone? "That's just it. I didn't discover this one. It isn't my secret to tell." How much could she say without breaking confidence with the Kents? She'd already broken with the spirit of her promise to guard Clark's secret. Damn it, they didn't get to guard this secret forever. They weren't the only people who loved Clark. "The Kents know more about what happened to Clark than they ever let on. I think you should ask them some hard questions, and don't stop until you get some real answers. You deserve the truth. If I didn't think that, I wouldn't be here." Chloe rose and offered Lex her hand.

The Kents know more than they've ever let on. The Kents...the liars...Lex felt anger, cool and strong, spring to life inside him. All this time, not knowing, searching, working with them, helping them, and Martha and Jonathan were lying to him. How dare they lie to him? They took his help, smiled to his face, and... The words failed him. He was just so angry. Lex stared at Chloe's proffered hand and contemplated refusing it. She wouldn't come clean for him, but she hadn't lied either. Rising slowly, Lex took Chloe's hand. "Working with you, was an unexpected pleasure, Ms. Sullivan." Nothing in his face or eyes thawed the cool words. It was a dismissal, but not a total rejection.

Had she done the right thing? Chloe was suddenly filled with doubts. Lex Luthor might not take the truth the right way. The cold young man who'd replaced her friend might respond with cruelty and anger. Who was the real Lex: the boy who held her when she was having a breakdown or the man staring at her like she was a bug? How had she forgotten what Luthor meant? Chloe didn't give voice to her doubts. She turned and walked away. Maybe it wasn't a mistake? Without looking over her shoulder once, Chloe walked away from Lex and his home. She was afraid to look back, afraid of the shadows that might stare at her from those beautiful eyes.


	26. Chapter 25 Unique

**-- Chapter 25 -- Unique -- **

Who are you? Clark stared hard at the face, his face, in the mirror. His skin was a pale shade of tan. Normal? Maybe it was. He had two blue eyes, one nose, one mouth, plenty of black hair. And so far the only other creature he'd seen remotely like himself had been a figment of his imagination.

Clark could hear Aislinn, his tall colorful benefactress banging around next door. She didn't know what he was either. At least she was offering help and kindness, and she wasn't that alien. She had two eyes and one nose and one mouth... a couple of extra arms or oddly placed fur wasn't that odd.

A tiny whisper of pain tickled through his brain, reminding Clark of his awakening, of that confusion. His clear crisp reflection blurred out and he squeezed his eyes shut.

_"I don't trust her, son. Woman like that, she's trouble. You'll be better off if you'd just come on home." _His eyes snapped open, and Clark flinched at the blond man standing behind his reflection.

A quick glance over his shoulder, confirmed his suspicion that the man wasn't really there. "Great, you're back. That's all I need, proof that I'm insane. You tell me to go home, but when I'm lost on the street do you tell me where to go? No, you abandon me. I don't want your advice. I don't need it. So stay out of my screwed up brain. Go away!" Clark squeezed his eyes shut and willed the phantom and his infuriatingly simple advice to be gone.

_"Grow up, Clark. You can't afford to act the infant right now. I'll give you a specific, and I would suggest you use it. Your 'screwed up' brain might not come up with anything else. You are on the wrong planet. Remember Earth? Find Earth, you find home."_

Clark opened his eyes and stared at the younger, much balder hallucination. "Well brother, while you're sharing, who am I?"

_"Jesus Clark, you're you."_

"Who are you talking to, child?" Aislinn called.

Aislinn's voice brought the world back into clear crisp focus, and Clark tried to massage the niggling pain out of his brain. "Just talking to myself, sorry."

"No need to be sorry. Come out here. I need your help," Aislinn said.

_My first duty as a bodyguard beckons? _"I'm coming." Clark ducked his head through into the main living area. "You've been busy." The space had been cleared except for a small dais. "What would you like me to do?"

Aislinn was leaning against the far wall, her two sets of arms crossed over her chest. A sly half-grin tugged at her soft rose-colored lips. "I need you to stand up there for me so I can get a line on visibility." She pointed to the little stage. "Stand on the blue spot."

"I can handle that," Clark said. He took the position Aislinn had indicated and smiled. "So, have you ever heard of a planet called Earth?"

"No, never heard of it." Such naivety, he was so trusting. Aislinn flipped a tiny red switch on the wall. "I am sorry, little one."

Clark barely registered a moment of puzzlement when Aislinn apologized, then he was swept off his feet and curled into a ball. "Hey! What is this?" Everything was still there and visible through a thin film of yellow light. He was hovering over the ground, trapped in some sort of yellow sphere of energy.

"You might be naïve, and innocent, but I think you'd have noticed when the auction started, since you're the item up for bid." Aislinn headed up to where Clark was curled. She saw him rearing back to punch at the containment sphere. "I wouldn't..." When he struck the shimmering yellow field the sphere translated the energy into motion and the tiny prison set itself spinning. "You see, trying to escape could get uncomfortable."

Clark felt his stomach flopping over repeatedly as his new prison spun madly. "Why are you doing this? You want to sell me?" _I shouldn't have trusted her, shouldn't have let my guard down. _A hoarse laugh barely escaped his lips._ I should have listened to my hallucination. Aislinn was very bad news. _"You can't do this. Who would want to buy me? I don't have any memories or skills. I'm useless, damaged goods."

Aislinn walked slow and graceful up to the dais. "You couldn't understand, but I'll explain, because I do like you. You are unique, the last of your kind. I knew it from the moment you touched my little dirty species scanner. It's just too much of a golden egg for a girl like me to pass up."

Clark stared, his heart thudding in his chest. He was unique? All that time searching the crowds for someone like himself, and he was unique. How could he be the only one of his species? Where did he come from? "You can't...I'm not...Please?"

Aislinn kissed one of her fingers and touched the energy sphere next to Clark's cheek. "You'll be fine. Whoever buys you, won't want you harmed."

* * *

A pair of headlights cut a swathe into the night. Summertime mosquitoes buzzed through the stationary lights and made their meal of Lex, the man leaning against the bumper. His unprotected bald head was already covering in bites and tiny wheals of redness. Occasionally he would reach an uncoordinated hand up to bat at the offending insects. His right hand never strayed from the decanter resting on his thigh. A small amount of clear amber liquid rolled around the bottom of the crystal container.

Lex watched the light scattering rainbows through the fine crystal. He let the colors dance across his hands. He should go home, call for a ride, and sleep it off. The last time he had attacked an alcoholic beverage with this much gusto, it had landed him in the hospital with alcohol poisoning. Lex took another long swig off the bottle.

It had been years since he was this reckless, this out of control. You couldn't play proper Luthor games without perfect self control and perspective. Lionel would be so disappointed if he could see this descent.

With the help of his car hood, Lex managed to regain his feet. It was too dark to see, but Lex had been out here enough to know what he was standing in front of, a neat grid of fertilizer test plots, his gift to the liars. With a shout of frustration, Lex threw what was left of the thirty year old brandy into the field.

His original plan had been a straight confrontation. Lex was going to walk right up to the Kents' homey white front door. He was going to play it polite, maybe accept a cup of coffee before starting the questions. It wasn't like he expected them to answer. He wanted the sanctimonious Jonathan Kent to know that he knew though, knew about the lies. Lex had practiced the words. "You're a liar, Mr. Kent. I knew that in the back of my head almost since we first met. I've put up with your hypocrisy long enough. I'm through." Lex frowned and tried to remember how the speech went after that. There were supposed to be more accusations, maybe an ultimatum. So why wasn't he delivering his scathing accusations? "Because of the portfolio of blackmail on his front seat... because Jonathan Kent might lie, but he was right about me... because I'm exactly like my father."

"Lex? Is that you?"

Standing in his own headlights, Lex couldn't see the person addressing him. "This is private property. I suggest you go away."

Jonathan Kent stepped into the light. "I know it's private property. The sheriff called, said I had some kids out here at the test plots. I guess he was mistaken." Slurred speech, rumpled clothes, Lex looked pretty bad. "Martha was worried when you didn't show up for dinner. You could have given her a call." Jonathan stepped back and stuck his head in the car window.

"What do you think you're doing?" Lex said. He heard the jingle of his car keys as Jonathan came back out of the car. It was just like him to think the worst. "I wasn't planning to drive, you know."

When Clark requested that he look after Lex, Jonathan hadn't been looking forward to the task. It had been Lex doing most of the looking after though. Lex had taken care of the farm. He had helped Chloe deal with things. Something had changed and now Lex finally needed help. "Would you like to talk?"

Lex snorted and crossed his arms over his chest. "If I wanted to talk, I'd have come to dinner as planned. As you see, I'm just fine where I am."

"Since you weren't planning to drive, I guess you were going to walk home? How about a lift?" Jonathan said. "I can't just leave you here."

"I don't see why not." Lex plopped down on the hood of his expensive sports car, effectively turning his back on Jonathan. "I talked to Chloe this morning. She's going to Metropolis after all."

What did she tell? It was enough to precipitate a radical break with Lex. Did she tell all? How could she? Jonathan could hear his heart beating in his chest. Could he lie here? Maybe the situation was still salvageable. "You talked to Chloe..."

"You talked to her first." Lex looked over his shoulder at Jonathan. The man looked taken aback – good. "There's no need to worry. She didn't tell me a damn thing. Confirmed a few things I already knew. I KNEW you were lying to me. I just assumed we were on the same page on the effort to find Clark. I assumed that was one thing you'd be honest about."

Jonathan took a deep breath and tried to gather his thoughts. How much did Lex know, and what was he going to do with that information? "No one is keeping anything from you that would help you find Clark, okay? Everyone has secrets. Don't even try to tell me that you've always been nothing but honest with me or Martha or anyone for that matter."

Lex laughed emptily. "You're right. I'm a damn liar." Lex slid over his hood and jerked open the passenger door. He held up the file, the blackmail. "Hell, Dad should have named me Lionel Jr."

Jonathan had no idea what Lex was waving at him. He didn't understand the declaration about Lionel. "Lex, what Martha and I told Chloe, we told her so she wouldn't do herself harm. Missing out on Metropolis and the Daily Planet wasn't fair to her."

"You saved Chloe. She was worth saving. I understand." Lex hugged his folder to his chest. "I can't count on my _friends._ I am pretty damn good at rooting out dirty little secrets on my own. Just answer me one question. Do you know if Clark is alive?"

"You've had too much to drink. Let me take you home," Jonathan said. He held out a hand, blatantly ignoring Lex's question.

"Go to Hell."

* * *

_I'm still here. _

_That observation could get old, considering my new expected life span. The sun keeps rising and the world keeps turning. The bureaucrats are still pushing their paper...scratch that, no paper. They're busy at their keypads anyway. _

_I can see it all from my dark hole, and I'm beginning to understand how this system really works. With that understanding, comes not a little frustration. Despite being at the pinnacle of their power scheme, I'll never take this government down playing by the rules. The other council members are too old and smart and entirely to committed to the system. I can't help wondering about them sometimes, my fellow council members. Why am I going mad, trapped here in this box of circuits, while they function smoothly and productively? Is there something wrong with me that I can't face this? _

_Screw rationality and productivity. Who needs it? Anarchy is a noble cause when the goal is freedom. A lot of my ancestors, my own biological mother, didn't believe in this system. It was a real thrill discovering that bit of trivia. I feel as though I've taken up their cause, the minority, the dissenters. The trick to this endeavor will be finding the lever and the fulcrum to turn this society on its collective ass. _

_... _

_I wonder if the other me out there is still sleeping, with my Eradicator watching over. I wonder if he's dreaming about our home. I hope he can dream where he is. _

_I miss sleeping and dreaming. _

_I miss breathing. _

_Forget it. Self pity is annoying. _


	27. Chapter 26 Going Once, Twice

**-- Chapter 26 -- Going Once, Twice -- **

"Wouldn't it be lovely to own something truly, utterly, unique in the universe? Wouldn't it be lovely to possess the last of the Kryptonians, the stuffy bastards who ostentatiously dangled their technology but never really shared? You can have it. You can have him, the last Kryptonian in the universe." Aislinn gave the nearly silent assemblage of aliens a chance to think about her pitch. She adjusted the soft yellow folds of her robes and grinned wickedly. The creamy yellow made her red skin seem harsh and garish. "We will be starting the bidding at one million Xinian credits."

Clark stared out of his tiny spherical prison at the gathering of aliens. It was a zoo, a menagerie, out there. They were bidding on him. He was a possession, an oddity, an animal. It didn't really matter what he knew or remembered. Whoever bought him would probably freeze dry him. Clark imagined what one of the aliens, a purplish feathered being, would do with him. Purple-feather-guy would be standing around with a flock of his own kind. They'd be sipping drinks, pecking at bird seed, and chatting about the big ugly freeze dried alien in the center of the room.

Scratch that fantasy. The purple alien seemed to have dropped out of the bidding. One of the big guys was still going at it aggressively. A memory sparked and Clark immediately dubbed the big guy, Jabba. He wasn't absolutely sure about the reference, but it felt right. He hoped that guy didn't win. Clark couldn't help imagining that big Jabba just wanted to buy him for a snack.

The other bidders were fading back too. It looked like it was between big gray Jabba and a little crustacean-guy. Come on little crustacean-guy, Clark found himself cheering internally. Come on little guy. Little guy wasn't bidding... Why had he stopped bidding? Don't let Jabba win little guy!

"You're giving this once in a lifetime opportunity up? Someone here has a billion Xinian credits lying around. Are you really going to let this go so easy?" Aislinn purred.

Someone in the back, a medium sized alien dressed in a black hood and robe, began bidding. Clark dubbed the new player, the grim reaper. Suddenly he wasn't sure who he wanted to win, Jabba or Death himself. Why couldn't there be a nice alien with two arms and two legs, one nose and one mouth bidding on him? Maybe a little fuzzy friendly creature with deep pockets?

It was Death's turn to bid, but nothing was happening, despite Ailsinn's coaxing voice. "I grow tired of this degrading auction. You see I haven't the money to pay anyway," the grim reaper from the back said. With a flourish, he discarded the thick black robe.

Death herself, Clark corrected internally. She had two eyes, one mouth, plenty of black hair... God, maybe he really wasn't unique? Like a streak of lightening she flew at the big guy, Jabba. With an efficient twisting motion, she separated his head from his body. Jabba bled green, like a slug in a slow steady eruption. "Ouch," Clark whispered.

"You have all forgotten what a Kryptonian is. They are power, and knowledge, and they control the greatest killing machines ever created, the Eradicators," his Grim Reaper announced. "I would suggest you run, before I kill you all for supposing to own a Kryptonian."

Aislinn couldn't quite believe how fast the room emptied. One moment, earlier she'd been planning her retirement with a billion Xinian credits, now she had nothing, but a dead Dexian on her hands and a possible death warrant at the hand of an Eradicator. "Should have known it was too good to be true. I should have known."

The Eradicator hammered her fist into the power source under Clark's containment sphere. The contraption failed and spilled its contents into the floor. "Should I kill her," The Eradicator asked. She took a couple of steps toward the sniveling prostitute. Pure hot hate boiled inside the Eradicator for the mercenary slut. "She touched you didn't she. She had no right to touch you. I will kill her if she even touched you."

Clark came to his feet and grabbed the new woman by the arm. "Don't kill her. Aislinn did help me a little. She did a bad thing, but she doesn't deserve to die for it."

"Doesn't she?" The Eradicator pulled Aislinn to her feet. The slut had to have touched him, her Clark. "At least let me hurt her a little."

Clark didn't answer the last question. A little blue rock had emerged from the Eradicator's discarded cloak, and it was hovering in front of him. _"Do you remember me, friend? It's Lola, your companion, your Kryptonium."_

"Lola, from when I woke up? I thought I was completely insane," Clark whispered. He wrapped his hand around the rock and was rewarded by a flash of music, warm and joyful. "Does that mean you missed me? I'm sorry, Lola. I don't remember you or your friend here." Clark finally noticed that the Eradicator had begun to pummel Aislinn. "Hey! I told you not to kill her."

The Eradicator looked over her shoulder and grinned at Clark. "You didn't tell me I couldn't hurt her a little."

Clark stared down at the unconscious woman, his sort-of-benefactress. Her face was beginning to swell and he couldn't help feeling guilty for her state, even after all she'd done. "Just leave her alone, okay?" It was impossible to look away from his rescuer. She was like him, exactly like him. He wasn't alone. "I guess she was wrong about me being the last of my kind. I'm so glad to see you."

The Eradicator didn't respond to that statement until she had the chance to properly analyze it. He didn't remember her, or Lola, or probably much of anything from the way he was behaving. It was disheartening, but not unexpected. "Unfortunately, I am only an Eradicator, a weapon. You are the last of your kind, well except for one other." She grinned. "Kal-El remains as well."

"I should meet Kal-El then." Clark paused and looked from the rock in his palm, to the Eradicator and grinned sheepishly. "Just by the way, have either of you heard of a place called Earth?"

* * *

Kal-El watched silently as the skeletal snake, Dessa, petitioned at his terminal for an audience. As a rule, she was always calm and composed from her bluish lips to her powder white toes. He'd never seen her lose her cool or patience. Today she was twitching, though. _Oh, for lips to grin with. _Should he let her continue to wait? The frustration was just so pleasant to watch.

"Councilman Kal-El, please respond," Dessa said. Her voice was brittle and anger laced through her every syllable. "Without your vote, we cannot proceed with the new intergalactic trade route proposition. Yay or nay it makes no matter, just vote. I beg you."

_Angry today, eh? I prefer fear... _

Dessa restrained herself from staring into the mechanical sensors she knew were watching her, transmitting her countenance to Kal-El. He enjoyed exercising his powers in moments like this, slowing the system as best he could, but more than anything he liked to make her wait. He made her wait for twelve days the last time a vote came down to his decision. That wasn't even the point though. This wasn't just a matter of her convenience. It was never just waiting... Without warning, the lighting in the cavernous room extinguished.

The Bastard was at it again. It was only with a supreme effort of will that Dessa maintained a semblance of her composure. The darkness seemed so thick and impenetrable. It probably hadn't taken Kal-El long to discover the most effective way to torture her: manipulate fears drummed into her by a billion years of evolution. It didn't matter that she intellectually knew the darkness wasn't dangerous. There was nothing lurking in these shadows waiting to make a meal of her. Those ancient genes would not be denied their survival instinct. Goddess, why hadn't she foreseen this possibility? Retribution was something she had anticipated, some rudeness, perhaps a termination of her role with the Over Council. Daily unending torture though...? The darkness was too much. Her species was not psychologically equipped for this. It had to end.

"I'll resign then," Dessa said. The words sounded strange in her ears. The Over Council had been her life for so long that she wasn't sure what her life would be without it. "Perhaps things will flow more smoothly without the aggravation of my presence."

_That out is too easy, girl. _"I forbid it. You can't abandon your post unless dismissed, and I've only just begun to enjoy myself."

Then came the music. It rolled softly into the room, casting echoes into the pitch blackness. Dessa shut her eyes and imagined that there was light on the other side of her eyelids. It seemed like an eternity passed without a spark of light, without a sound except for the delicate music. He wasn't going to let her go then... Part of her was glad. Part of her couldn't stand the thought of leaving, but the more rational voice in her understood that she should be afraid. One of the most powerful people in the galaxy hated her so much that he couldn't stand to lose his daily torture of her.

"My biological mother wrote that. She called it her Ode to Freedom. A talented lady, wasn't she?" Kal-El whispered. The song was gone, and the lights slowly returned

Show no fear, Dessa commanded herself curtly. "Your vote, then?"

"My vote... I forget the subject. Couldn't it wait a bit? I'm rather enjoying myself at the moment." Kal-El dutifully filtered the glee out of his voice.

* * *

Now draped securely in the Eradicator's voluminous cloak, Clark stepped back outside for the first time since Ailsinn first took him off the streets. The Eradicator had brushed aside his questions, encouraging him to save them for Kal-El. He could wait. "Where to?"

"Follow me. We'll be running, fast as possible. Hopefully we won't be noticed. If you're recognized and someone tries anything, let me handle it. Understand?"

Clark was still nodding, when the Eradicator started running. He had to really book to keep from losing her. Faster, faster, Clark grinned to himself. This felt familiar, comfortable. The world was so slow that it was frozen in place, and the energy burning him, speeding him through the world, was a joyful intoxication. Why would you ever slow back down?

_"Because you could die in this place, if you ran out of energy," Lola said. "Strong, fast, intelligent, but you aren't a God. Know your limitations." _

Unconsciously, Clark slowed a step. "Oh, I see." Not a God, but almost unique, it would be nice to just know exactly what he was supposed to be. Kal-El was supposed to have answers. Maybe this other Kryptonian, would be the friend Aislinn had pretended to be. Clark could keep from hoping that he was running toward a brother and an ally.


	28. Chapter 27 GreenEyed Monster

**-- Chapter 27 -- Green-Eyed Monster -- **

Two eggs, a strip of bacon, and toast, not very heart conscious, but it was Jonathan's favorite breakfast. So why was he staring at it like he'd been served the plain oatmeal she encouraged him to eat? "Next time this mood strikes whatever it is, warn me so I can save my culinary efforts," Martha said. "Spit it out Jonathan. Whatever it is, you chewed on it all night, and I'm tired of the moping."

"Am I that transparent?" Jonathan continued to stare at his breakfast without eating. The thought of food, frankly, left him nauseated. "Believe it or not, I'm worried about Lex Luthor. Clark asked me to look after Lex for him before he left. I told him I would, Martha. It wasn't something I was looking forward to, but Lex looked after us instead. He wandered around this town playing shepherd to everything Clark left behind. Last night, I think...no, I know I let Lex down last night."

Martha wrapped her hands around one of Jonathan's and frowned. "I take you went to see Lex last night after he didn't come to dinner. Tell me what happened. I hope you didn't have a fight."

"It wasn't like that," Jonathan said. "I didn't go looking for Lex, and I really didn't pick a fight. He was out at the test plots, drinking. I just tried to get him home."

"It doesn't really sound like Lex, drinking in a field that is. Did he tell you what was wrong?" Martha asked. She'd just known something was wrong when Lex skipped out on dinner. "It was his father, wasn't it?"

Wouldn't it be easy if Lex's problem had been with Lionel? At least Jonathan could have commiserated, advised, been a friend. "We're the problem. Chloe made us the problem. She told him just enough that he knows we know something about Clark."

"Chloe wouldn't...Why would Chloe do something like that?" Martha said. "What does he know?"

Jonathan shook his head. "We lied about Clark. It's all he knows." He needed the truth, and we wouldn't give it to him. "What could we do? Telling everyone the truth would make it impossible for Clark to ever come home again. There wasn't anything else to do. We didn't mean to hurt Lex or anyone. We didn't ask them to look, and neither did Clark."

"It doesn't change the fact that Lex and Chloe and a lot of other people fought for Clark. Lex fought harder than most, and maybe we don't have the right to lie to him," Martha said.

"You said that about Chloe. Are you going to tell me to tell Lex Luthor everything now? Because I can't do that Martha, and I won't let you," Jonathan said. _We saved Chloe. Chloe was worth saving... _"It wasn't about worth, or who worked hardest, or even who cares about Clark the most. Not telling Lex is about trust. We can't trust him, not really."

"Are you sure this isn't about, Lionel. Lex is not his father," Martha said. "I won't argue with you on this. You gave in on Chloe, and it isn't a good idea to start telling Clark's secret to everyone who misses him, but are you sure?"

Jonathan could see Clark, slouched in his seat on his last night on Earth. He was staring into his father's eyes, asking him for a single favor. _I know you don't trust him and you never liked the idea that we were friends... Please look after Lex. You might think he doesn't need it, but he does. I'm the only person I know of that he considers a friend, and he doesn't have any real family._

"I don't know, Martha," Jonathan whispered. "I don't think we can tell him, but I don't know."

* * *

One chrome door, arched and tall, stood in the path of Clark Kent, amnesiac alien pilgrim. The Eradicator winced at the image, a repetition of her Clark's first arrival to this government building. This time there would be no ascension or betrayal. At least she wasn't planning any. Clark had no concept of what he was facing, or that he was retracing his own steps.

"Let's go already. I have a lot of questions for this guy, Kal-El," Clark said.

The Eradicator nodded to Clark, and she plugged her hand into the wall terminal just adjacent to the door. "They know we're coming now. Go ahead."

Clark might not realize that he was retracing his steps or how his last visit to this place had ended, but Lola remembered._ "Be careful. This is where your brain was scrambled. It is dangerous. Trust no one, except for Kal-El, and be wary of him as well. Who knows what effect ascension wrought on him."_

Clark pulled Lola out of his pocket and stared at her. "I'm tired of everyone understanding what's going on except for me. How am I supposed to be careful of someone, when I don't know enough to understand the things you're telling me about him?"

"Go," the Eradicator snapped. "Kal-El is both waiting and listening. You wouldn't want to offend him."

"I just..." Clark's shoulders slumped, and the delicate confidence he'd felt growing in him evaporated. "You know what you're doing. I'm going."

* * *

One step removed from the real world, Kal-El watched Clark Kent walk back into the inner chamber of the over council. He watched himself, the person he'd buried, make his way across the empty room. It had been easier to subsist, to forget, with his doppelganger safely tucked away sleeping. Now he had to face Clark, sweet and innocent. Strange how different he could become from the original he'd been copied from in only a few short weeks. God, Clark was so timid and nervous. He looked like a schoolboy in church for the first time – a schoolboy in black leather?

Clark tugged at the sleeve of his shirt and tried not to fidget too much. The room behind the chrome door was big and bright and empty. "Kal-El is here, right?"

The Eradicator didn't respond or proceed beyond the immediate interior of the room. Of course Kal-El was there and listening. The question was, what he was thinking and planning. What if he didn't take a confrontation with himself well? He wasn't the sweet child who began ascension. The experience had changed him. She could tell that much from their limited contact. What if Kal-El chose to harm Clark? Whose command would she abide then?

"I'd like to know who dressed you in that."

After giving the tight faux leather ensemble a glance, Clark turned toward the wall which had spoken. "Me? Uh, Aislinn gave me these clothes. All I had was a hospital dress-thing. Kal-El?"

Laser lights shot out from the walls, dancing together in synchrony. A hologram took form, Kal-El dressed in the formal robes of a Kryptonian. "Yes, I am Kal-El. Who is Aislinn and why was she dressing you?"

"It was my fault," the Eradicator said. "I misplaced Clark for a short time. Aislinn is a_ service professional _from district Kappa."

Kal-El laughed and shook his holographic head at the Eradicator. "You let a prostitute play dress up with innocent little Clark here? I do hope that's all this Aislinn did. What would our mother say?"

Delicately raising his hand, Clark cleared his throat. "You look an awful lot like me, Kal-El, and I thought you were actually here. What's with the hologram?"

"Ascension, the gift that just keeps on giving, you have amnesia, don't you?" Kal-El felt a cold anger swell in him. It wasn't fair that he was trapped in the metal box, isolated from the world, when there was a virtually empty shell standing in front of him. Clark could feel the world, smell it, taste it, breathe it. He could go home, but did he even appreciate how amazing that gift was? "Do you remember anything?"

There was a cold clipped note to Kal-El's questions, and Clark instinctively turned to the Eradicator for guidance, but she only stared back at him. "I don't remember much, but things are coming back. I think they are anyway. I'm not hallucinating anymore." _Not hallucinating often anyway... _"Are we brothers? Twins maybe?"

Kal-El stared at the empty-amnesiac version of Clark. _I want to kill him. I want him to die, for what he has and doesn't deserve. I wonder if the Eradicator would snuff him out if I asked? _Almost as though responding to his internal question, the Eradicator moved forward and placed herself in front of Clark. Her expression dared him to try something. _She knows how crazy I am. _With that realization, the desire to kill vanished. "You're protecting people from me now? You are growing into a regular sentient being... We aren't brothers Clark. I'm a copy of you. What's a good metaphor for my creation? Try this. They took the novel that is Clark Kent, cut the binding holding the pages together and made a perfect copy. You're screwed brain is just a side effect of the process."

Clark stepped around the Eradicator, oblivious to his recent danger. "Why though? I don't understand why they'd want a copy of me. What are we? Where do I belong?"

"Well, I'll let you remember that for yourself. You can't stay here."_ I might kill you if you do. _"The familiarity of Earth can only help your mind reorganize itself. I've summoned Dessa. She will take you to the launching point."

"That's it? You're going to send me away with hardly a word? You remember my life, don't you? Why can't you give it back to me?" Clark reached a hand out, but it only passed through the hologram. "Show me who I am. You don't get to just dismiss me. I'm the original, right? Give me back my life."

"Apparently, you don't understand what the Over Council is, or maybe you don't realize that I'm on it. I get to dismiss you. If I wanted, I could send you to Hell, break you, take your life and end it." Kal-El paused, his anger fading back again. "I've already forgotten who I was. I can't help you figure out who you are, Clark. I suggest you get out, before you get hurt." A side door slid open and the stick-thin woman, Dessa, made her entrance. "Dessa, get Clark out of here. I'm making a deal with the Thelosians to get him home as soon as possible."

This wasn't supposed to go like this. Kal-El wasn't supposed to be a copy of him. He was supposed to be a knowledgeable friend, someone willing and able to help, a brother. The ugly boney woman wrapped a sinewy hand around his arm and pulled him toward the door. If Lola hadn't begun her song and a quiet plea for his silence, Clark wouldn't have let the strange interview end. She seemed scared though. He paused in the doorway. "I don't understand. Who is going to help me? Will I see you again?"

"Every time you look in a mirror, you'll see a shade of me. Make it home and there will be plenty of people trying to help you," Kal-El said. The door slid shut sealing Clark from his immediate view. He passed a long moment of silence with the Eradicator. "I wanted to kill him. The sight of him alone made me homicidal."

"I suspected as much," the Eradicator said. "What will become of him? You can't order me to kill him. I won't carry that command out."

"The desire to kill him passed. Clark will go back to Earth, be a good son to Martha and Jonathan Kent, a good friend to Chloe, Pete, Lex... Lana. I won't have to worry about them. They'll have him."

The Eradicator suspected the heaviness in her chest was pity, a new decidedly unpleasant emotion. "What will become of you?"

"Me? Don't worry about me. I've become an anarchist," Kal-El said. The hologram he'd been maintaining vanished. "Would you like to hear about my plans for the galaxy?"

The pure zeal and joy at the declaration of anarchy reminded the Eradicator of herself at some of her darker moments of free thought. "You do realize that you're insane?" the Eradicator said. A playful grin danced across her lips, and she wished this incarnation of Clark, Kal-El, had a body to touch.

"Yes, I know. Funny isn't it – how far the innocent has fallen."

"Hilarious," the Eradicator replied. "How do I fit into your plans? I'm prepared to serve as always."

* * *

Dessa refrained from looking back at the physical remains of Kal-El. He seemed relatively stable, a normal Kryptonian. Why had the transfer resulted in such an unstable incarnation for the Over Council? Maybe it was his youth. An adolescent had never been ascended before. Procedure said to give Kal-El time. Time would fade all wounds, all anger, even a bit of insanity. At least that was the theory. "I suspect Kal-El is trading his vote on the proposed Intragalactic Trade Route for this trip. The Thelosians hold a monopoly on instantaneous space travel and they aren't much for sharing."

"Is it safe? Where is he sending me? What is Earth like and who should I look for there?" Clark felt a distinct discomfort, staring at Dessa and her yellow snake eyes in her hollow pale zombie face. A flash, a memory, filled Clark's mind. Dessa was crouched over him smearing something cool and sticky across his chest. He couldn't understand the calm clipped words coming out the memory's mouth.

"Of course it's safe," Dessa snapped. "Wait here and when things have been arranged a technician will come for you, to send you home."

"I met you before, didn't I?" Clark wrapped his arms around his chest. "Can't you tell me more about who I am and where I'm going?"

Dessa felt a twinge of pity in her chest. "We met once, but I didn't know you. I can't help you. I can't even help myself. You will be well on Earth. You were well and balanced and safe there for many years. The rest you will have to figure out for yourself."


	29. Chapter 28 Wide Open Spaces

**--Chapter 28 -- Wide Open Spaces -- **

Clark stared at the clear pod he was supposed to sit in for the trip home, not that he remembered home. No one here seemed to care what happened to him or where he ended up so long as he got out of their hair. Well, that wasn't completely true, Lola seemed to be attached to him.

_"Of course I'm attached,"_ Lola said. _"I'll tell you what I know about Earth, most of which I picked up from you before Ascension." _She switched into librarian mode. Her mental voice lost any hint of emotion and she started spewing facts. _"Earth is a relatively rural world. The inhabitants, humans, are not aware of extraterrestrial life. Your true nature is unknown by most of the humans you know. Humans are a delicate race of creatures. They are physically slow, mentally unremarkable, and socially pseudo-developed. That said, they have a remarkable capacity to both love and hate. They are fearful creatures, and rightly so considering their delicate natures, but they have a remarkable tendency to stand against what they fear anyway."_

"Home," Clark said. The picture Lola was painting wasn't perfect, but it sounded right. "I have a family there, people that care for me and that I'm supposed to care for?"

_"Though not the planet of your birth, the Earth is your home. You have a family and a life there."_

"If that's where I belong, then I guess it's okay to go." Clark crawled into the small pod and held Lola close in to his chest. "I wonder how this is going to work?"

_"An excellent question, but one I can't answer." _Lola dropped the pretense of words and hummed a gentle little song to soothe and calm.

Clark almost let himself cry. Lola was too kind after a long string of, if not cruelty then disregard. Her song seemed to urge him to relax, sleep, and be well because he was loved. The clear sphere began to glow softly, blotting out the small unremarkable room and its technician. Clark closed his eyes and tried to mentally hum along with Lola.

There was a moment like falling and then the smells hit him: grass, dirt, fertilizer, honeysuckle. Clark's eyes flew open and he was staring into an endless blue sky. "Instantaneous." Rather than try to wrap his brain around the distances he'd just hopped in a single moment, Clark dug his fingers down into the thick grass under him and just lay there soaking it all in. "Home...this is nice."

* * *

"Why God?" Lex groaned. His head was pounding a regular rhythm along with every beat of his heart. The hangover was an aspect of his teenage years he'd at least partially forgotten. A nice dark room with a thick blanket and absolutely no noise was in order. The damn sun was torturing him for the moment, making the pulsations in his brain three hundred times worse. Cautiously, Lex cracked an eye open. Where had he passed out? What had happened the night before? The field in front of him brought back bits and pieces of the evening.

Jonathan Kent had found him boozing it up last night, and he took the keys to the Jag. Lex groaned again and hid his eyes behind an arm. "Have to get home." Thanks to the ever conscientious Jonathan Kent, he didn't have any keys. Lex pushed himself into a sitting position and brushed at the grass clinging to his head. If Lionel could see him now, dirty and hung over, he'd laugh until little tears rolled out of his mocking eyes. "Your father isn't going to see you like this. If you hurry and call for the limo, you can probably avoid anyone but Reginald seeing you." Had he brought the cell phone though?

Lex regained his feet and patted at his pockets, hoping for a solid oblong resistance. He was squinting out toward the test field when he spotted motion. Someone was already at the worksite? "Lovely." Unless the cell phone was in the car somewhere, it was just as well. Lex headed out into the field. "Hey, you wouldn't happen to have a cell phone?" Now that he got a better look, this guy was dressed oddly for a field hand. Black leather would get kind of hot as the morning wore on. The man turned and smiled nervously. "Clark?" Hangover forgotten, Lex covered the last few feet and grabbed him by the shoulder.

Clark jumped when the young bald man, heretofore one of his more vocal hallucinations, grabbed him. Not a hallucination then? "God, hi," Clark said. "How are you?"

Lex frowned at the odd melodic language. "Can you understand me? You are Clark, aren't you? What the Hell did that psychopath do to you? Where have you been?"

"Wrong language, sorry, I am Clark. And you." Clark caught a brief flash of memory while looking at this man and his shocked expression. In the memory, they were both soaked to the skin and the bald man was looking up at him like he'd just seen a miracle. "My memory is a little patchy. I don't actually remember your name."

"You don't remember my name?" Lex nodded slowly. Chloe had said the Eradicator woman could screw with a person's head. "My name is Lex Luthor, and we're good friends. We need to get you to the hospital."

"I'd rather go home," Clark said. "Can you show me where home is instead?"

They were standing on the Kent farm, the place where Clark grew up, and he needed to ask for directions. The freak of the moment, the Eradicator, did this to him. "You're probably right. Home first. You can get your bearings." A niggling temptation flitted through Lex's mind. He didn't have to take Clark home. Without memories, he wouldn't know the difference. Wouldn't it just be symmetrical for the liars to be denied a simple truth for a change. Clark seemed so relieved and he smiled at Lex. He trusts too easily. Lex ignored the voice of his father, accusing him of weakness, naivety, stupidity. "Let's go. The farmhouse is this way. I'd offer to drive, but my keys aren't on me."

* * *

Using a small hand trowel, Martha turned over a section of her herb garden. The dead plants shredded beneath her efforts, disintegrating into the soil and returning some of what they took out to live. This row was going to be mint this year, a nice cool crisp breath of fresh air for the summer. It would be perfect for the bread and butter pickles she wanted to try her hand at.

The sound of footfalls on the nearby porch gave Martha a moment's pause. Jonathan must have forgotten something. There was no way he was through with the vaccinations. She brushed the black dirt off her hands, wiping them on the grimy front of her work jeans. "Jonathan? Did you forget the deworming gun? I saw it in the shed, yesterday."

Martha abandoned her garden for the moment. Maybe Jonathan had come to a decision about his run in with Lex? Maybe it couldn't wait? "I..." All the words that had been sitting on the tip of her tongue died, and Martha felt a rushing in her ears like a river were churning at her elbow. First she'd noticed Lex. Lex wasn't quite an unexpected visitor, but the young man next to him had Clark's blue eyes, his smile, his posture. His hair was too long, actually hitting below the shoulders, but more than six months without a haircut could catch up with you. Was she dreaming? "Clark?" The rushing in her ears got louder, and she was falling.

"Mrs. Kent."_ She's going to faint, _Lex thought to himself. He was half-way down the porch steps before he realized Clark already had her. He must have taken a flying leap over the side of the porch to get between his mother and the ground. "Still saving the world, I see. Is she okay?"

"I think so," Clark said. "She's my mom, right? When I woke up, I had these hallucinations, and she was there. She called me her baby and her son."

"Yeah Clark, she's your mom. I'm going in to get some water and we'll try to bring her around."

Clark stared down at the woman in his arms and cradled her close. There were the beginnings of lines around her eyes and mouth, and dirt smudged her cheeks, but she was still pretty with her bright red hair and green eyes. Those eyes were open and staring up at him. "Hello, I'm sorry for making you faint."

Her baby was home. Martha touched his face to make sure he was really there. Her hand left two perfect black fingerprints on his pale skin. "I got you dirty," she whispered. Martha pulled Clark into a hug. She held on as tight as she could. It was almost like she was afraid he would disappear if she didn't hold him to her. "We were so scared. You were gone so long."

"Was it a long time? I can't remember," Clark said. "I can't remember a lot of things." It was strange, the way this woman was hugging him and crying. She was his mother, adoptive, but he didn't remember her at all. What was he supposed to say? What should he do? God, why couldn't he just remember? Clark squinted his eyes and tried to force the memories to come.

"Nearly total amnesia," Lex said. He proceeded down with a small mug of tap water. "I found him out at the test plots, and he didn't know me or where home was." The image of mother and son embracing was endearing and beautiful. Lex couldn't quite squash a tendril of envy and bitterness. His mother was six feet under, cuddling up with the writhing worms. It was an old childhood nightmare, his mother's decay. He hadn't thought about it in years. What a moment for it to come back to him. "A trip to the hospital is in order I believe, but he wanted to come home first."

Martha released Clark from her grip, seeming to realize his discomfort. She pulled herself back onto her feet. "You don't remember anything? You were hurt. The Eradicator hurt you. Where is the Eradicator? Is she coming back for you again?" Maternal instincts singing, Martha wished she could punish the Eradicator for everything she'd done. He really didn't remember?

"The Eradicator saved my life, at least once that I remember. I don't know what happened before, but she didn't come back with me. I don't think she'd hurt me," Clark said.

"I would say that isn't an issue to argue at the moment. Hospital-time, head injuries are nothing to play around with," Lex said.

Clark could sense his mother's tension at the mention of a hospital. _What do I do, Lola? I'm an incognito alien. I can't go to the hospital. If my friend, Lex, knew that he wouldn't be insisting like he is. So how do I put him off?_

_"How exactly should I know?" _Lola asked. _"You know these people. I don't."_

_That's helpful considering my memory situation. _"No hospitals, I woke up in a hospital, bad experience. I don't want to go back."

"Then I'll bring a doctor to you," Lex said. "Can I borrow your phone?"

Martha smiled briefly at Clark and nodded. He had to remember something because he knew to avoid hospitals, or maybe it really was just a bad experience motivating him? "I think you should let us handle this, Lex. Jonathan and I can take it from here. Thank you for bringing him home."

Dismissed? Years of carefully cultivating self control was the only thing standing between Lex and a royal outburst. Just like that, they were asking him to leave. It was because of the secrets., whatever they were hiding about Clark that they don't want anyone to know, the secret they told Chloe. "I know you have secrets, Mrs. Kent. You don't trust me, fine. Clark needs to see a doctor. It isn't about me or you or trust. This isn't an issue to debate."

_I wonder why they don't tell him. He was one of the half-dozen people important enough to me that I hallucinated him. _Clark stared at Lex and wished he could apologize. "I'm going to be fine," Clark said. "I'm home. I don't need a doctor to tell me that my memory might or might not come back, and I don't need one to tell me that my heart and lungs and reflexes are fine. I know they are. All I need is a little time to try and put the pieces back together. Can I have a little time?"

Lex had never been more tempted to just scream. Were they both insane? Missing for seven months, amnesia, and you don't go to the hospital or even seek out a physician? What was he supposed to do? He could try dragging Clark in to the hospital kicking and screaming. "I'm not letting this go. If he doesn't see a doctor, I'll make sure a doctor sees him," Lex snapped.

Clark's vision blurred and his head started pounding. "It doesn't seem right. He's just trying to help." Clark turned to his mother and frowned. "Lex is a friend, right? Why doesn't he know? Do I lie to everyone all the time? This could be an exhausting way to live. I don't think I like lying. Maybe I did before, but why? Would he hate me if he knew?" He took a step toward Lex a confused frown plastered on his face. "Would you hate me Lex, if I told you why I'm not going to the doctor? Do you hate that easy?"

Martha's felt her jaw drop and she shook her head at Clark. "You don't know what you're talking about. You don't remember. Hush, now. You don't know."

Clark rubbed a hand across his forehead and winced. The pain, the needles poking his brain, why did they have to come back now? Would the hallucinations follow? "You're right. I'm tired and it just...it hurts."

Martha winced as Clark wavered. "Oh God, sit down right now. Lex, I need you to get Jonathan. He's at the shoots behind the barn, please."

Lex stood absolutely still for a long moment. He'd never been so close to knowing the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth about Clark Kent. It had to be a pain, living a lie every day. But what was the lie? He was maybe a meteor mutant of some kind. It was the only thing that made sense. Did the Kents think he'd line up to dissect Clark if he knew? Did they think he'd betray the secret? Maybe he could just let it go. Maybe he could just forget anyone ever confirmed his suspicions about Clark and the secrets surrounding him. _I'm not good at letting things go. _"I'll get Jonathan, but we aren't through with this conversation."

* * *

Shoving the chrome deworming gun down a calf's throat, Jonathan shot a thick gray sludge of fenbendazole safely down its esophagus. The cow bellowed at the offense and scuttled out of the shoot and up to its mother. Jonathan shoved the gun into the waist of his pants and released the next calf into the slot. "Come on girl, I know it tastes bad, but this is for your own good."

"I don't think she understands."

Jonathan turned to the person glibly stating the obvious, and all thoughts of cows or parasite control fled. "Lex." He looked thoroughly hung-over from his blood shot eyes to the dark circles highlighting them. Had he returned for his keys? Maybe he wanted to continue their discussion from the evening before? "Did you come for your keys? They're in the kitchen, next to the sink."

Any niggling voice encouraging Lex to treat Jonathan tactfully and carefully was overwhelmed by his sheer frustration, and Lex didn't hold anything back. "Mrs. Kent needs you. Clark is home, but he isn't feeling well. She doesn't want me to get a doctor. I hope you have a different opinion," Lex said.

Jonathan turned from the calf and walked stiff-legged to the fence. "Did you say Clark is home? Are you sure?" When someone tells you the truth, plainly and bluntly, it can take a moment to really sink in. Jonathan clutched his right hand over his heart, the old muscle suddenly straining in his chest.

"Saw him, touched him, he's home. With your permission, I'll go for the doctor now," Lex said. He tried to hide his anger and annoyance, but it was hard.

"Hold off on the doctor," Jonathan said. He took off at a run for the house. "Martha!" It was impossible to really believe what Lex was saying until he saw it with his own eyes. You talk about hoping and having faith but those emotions only live so long. In all honesty, he'd given up on seeing his son again. He hadn't admitted it consciously, but he had started to mourn his child. "Clark?" His family was whole again. Clark had his head resting in Martha's lap and his eyes were shut. It was the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen.

Martha motioned for Jonathan's silence as soon as he reached the porch. "Very bad headache," she whispered. "He doesn't remember us, Jon. He doesn't remember this place or anything. It's all gone. Lex had to take him home because he couldn't find the house."

Jonathan dropped to his knees in front of Martha and Clark. Now that everything was coming back together, was this illness going to destroy it all? Amnesia hadn't been a complication he'd considered when worrying about Clark's return. Was it total? Everything was really gone, and what about the Eradicator? "Will he be okay? Do we know what happened?"

"I'm fine," Clark said. His eyes were still shut but he smiled. "It's just a headache, a mild one compared to what I woke up with beating in my skull. Lola thinks the headaches are a good sign. My brain is healing, rerouting. I get flashes of memory with the headaches usually. I recognize your voice, you know. That's the voice that kept telling me to come home."

Jonathan didn't bother fighting the tears building in his eyes. "Well you're home now, and it doesn't matter what you remember. We're going to help you through this."

"Who exactly is Lola?" Lex asked. "I hope and pray she's a doctor."


	30. Chapter 29 Welcome Home

**-- Chapter 29 -- Welcome Home -- **

Five mismatched suitcases sat piled on top of one another pyramid style. Chloe circled the lopsided construct with a long list. Almost everything had a check by it. "Metropolis, here I come." The doorbell rang and Chloe shoved her checklist into a pocket. It had to be Pete, again. He was around constantly of late, making sure she didn't change her mind on Metropolis again. She tried not to feel guilty around him. He didn't know that his best friend was really an alien, or that Clark was wandering around somewhere in the universe. There was enough guilt over the information she'd slipped Lex that telling Pete anything wasn't going to happen. Her conscience couldn't stand any more moral confusion. Metropolis would be a nice pleasant break from it all. She pulled her front door open and ginned. "I knew it was you. Come on in, Pete. If you came to make sure for the thirtieth time that I'm going to the little farewell bash you put together, I promised. You don't need to beg."

Pete didn't answer right away. To be honest he was still reeling with the news he was spreading. It wasn't every day that people came back from the dead. Maybe Clark hadn't had a headstone in the cemetery, but Pete had buried him in his mind. He'd mourned him and even enacted his own memorial by trying to be Chloe's hero. "Chloe, you're phone line has been tied up, and no one has been able to get through."

"Really long download," she said. "Is something important going on? My dad's okay isn't he? Nobody's hurt?"

"Whoa, slow down. First, I just want to say, you were right, and I was wrong. You're always right, must be the reporter instincts." Pete shrugged and grinned, his disbelief showing through his expression. "Clark is home. I haven't seen him, and supposedly there's something wrong with his memory, but he's home."

Chloe took a step back and sat down on the edge of one of her suitcases. Clark was back from space with a memory problem? Considering the lies he had to maintain, that could either mean Clark had memory problems or he was faking them to avoid questions. Had the Eradicator come with him? If anything was wrong with Clark it was the Eradicator's doing. "I have to see him." Chloe came to her feet and headed for the door. "Are you coming, Pete?"

"Again I say, whoa. I talked to Mrs. Kent and Clark on the phone. He had a headache, but if he's feeling up to it, he's coming to your farewell party," Pete said.

Chloe spun and froze. "He's coming tonight?" A thousand little things like what she was going to wear, when she was going to arrive, what color lipstick to choose, were competing for her mental energy with almost as many huge issues, like what she was going to say to her alien friend, was she going to follow through on her resolution to tell him she might love him? A carefree day had turned into a panic attack in a matter of seconds. Chloe grinned. "This is the best news I've heard in months."

* * *

Clark stared at himself in his full length mirror, at the clothes his mother assured him were his best and his favorites. A bright red cotton shirt with a slightly faded pair of jeans hung on him like they were sewn for him. "I almost look like that hallucination I had of myself after waking up. Almost." The hair was wrong. He'd only been home for a little over a day, and the newly acquired length in his hair had been thus far ignored. Going to Pete's party tonight had been his idea. Despite his parents' fears and complaints, he was still going. It would be good for him to see the people he was supposed to know, maybe make some more memories surface. He needed some memories to surface, something to ground him in this place.

"You look nice," Martha said. She walked right up to him and smoothed the folds out of the back of his shirt. Absently she fingered one of his longer black curls. "Give your father a couple more days to get over the shock and there will be some campaigning to get this cut."

"I don't mind," Clark said. "I'm going to be late though unless I hurry. I really look okay? No one is going to laugh and point and ask if I shop on Jupiter?"

Martha shook her head and blinked back the tears in her eyes. She could almost pretend that everything was back to normal, but there was no recognition in those eyes. The baby she raised had forgotten her, and only time would tell if any of that would ever come back to him. He was home but still lost. "You look perfect."

Clark thought his dad was actually going to miss his exit, but he was waiting for him on the porch. "Clark, I want you to remember the talk we had about why we keep the secrets we do. You won't forget?"

"I won't forget, and I really am sorry for almost telling Lex everything. I just didn't remember or really understand. Part of me still doesn't," Clark said. He tugged at his brown jacket and smiled. "I won't be home late."

* * *

A buffet table covered completely in finger foods, cocktail weenies, carrots, and a dozen other easy but tasty treats was shoved against one of the Talon's walls. Lana surveyed the spread and smiled. It wasn't terribly elaborate or fancy. Pete had given her a very manageable menu for Chloe's farewell-for-the-summer party. If the rumors running around town were to be believed, the party was going to be turning into a welcome home Clark Kent party.

Forget rumors, there Clark was, standing in the Talon's doorway. "You're early. Come on in," Lana said. He looked nice, if a little skittish. "The hair looks nice, not very Clark, but nice. People should be arriving soon."

Clark couldn't make himself move. The memories he'd been hoping for were hitting him full force. A dark haired beauty was standing over him. She had him by the hand and she was casually bending his arm back straining the tendons until they cracked. He could hear her laughing at him. "I..." His mind made no distinction between the raven-haired beauty smiling at him and the one torturing him. He couldn't even form an excuse for his retreat. Clark fled. He could hear Lana at the door calling for him, but he didn't look back.

What on Earth spooked him? Lana looked up and down the street but there wasn't any sign of Clark. The poor guy probably just needed a moment. One of the rumors that was circulating said that Clark hadn't returned unscathed. Some of the rumors said he had amnesia, others said he had post traumatic stress syndrome, and those were just the ones she'd heard.

People started to arrive and Lana had to head back in. Hopefully Clark would decide to make another appearance. A lot of people would be disappointed if he didn't show up.

* * *

Chloe adjusted her little red dress and sighed dramatically. "I overdid it, didn't I? I look like a clown in dress for a twenty-five year old."

Pete shook his head at Chloe and gripped her shoulders. "The dress is pretty. It's just the right length. The spaghetti strap thing is sexy but not slutty and Clark is going to hemorrhage something when he sees you."

Chloe's expression lightened and she stopped fidgeting. "Thanks Pete, not just for the party either. You're a good friend."

Pete opened the door for her, but the Talon was practically overflowing with people. "Doesn't this violate the fire code? I thought this was a quiet little bash. I don't know half these people," Chloe said.

Pete grunted and shook his head. "Jerks, the word must have gotten out that Clark might be making an appearance. He's hot gossip right now. Folks want to get a glimpse and see if he's as crazy as the rumors are making him out to be."

_If he's crazy, it's the Eradicator's fault. _Chloe nodded and craned her neck trying to catch a glimpse of the aforementioned spectacle. "So, is he here?"

Pete shrugged. "Judging by the whispers, he's not there. I hate to say it, but I vote we skip your going to Metropolis party."

"Oh well, I was being so stupid anyway. I made this all about Clark, when it was my party. He's probably at home trying to put his life back together," Chloe said. "It was a good thought Pete, thanks. I'll call you before I leave tomorrow."

_She wants Clark, not you. Still, it was a waste of a beautiful dress. _"You want to go somewhere else to have a farewell celebration, just the two of us?"

"Thanks, I'd rather head up to the Torch and reminisce a little. Bye Pete." Chloe wrapped her arms around her chest, oblivious to Pete's subtle play for her. It wasn't fair. Tonight was supposed to be her catharsis, her chance to see Clark, to ask questions, to make sure he was okay. Going out to the farm wasn't an appealing option. The Kents probably knew that she'd talked to Lex, and they couldn't be happy with her. Would Clark be mad too? It was his secret she'd been dropping breadcrumbs about.

Chloe paused and turned toward a flash of red in her peripheral vision. Someone was sitting on the steps in front of the flower shop. Chloe stared, not quite believing what she was seeing. It was Clark, her Greek god in all his glory, except he sort of looked like a rock star with the longer hair. "Clark? It's you isn't it. I take it you decided to skip the party too. Do you remember me?" Chloe asked the question rather tongue in cheek, anticipating Clark's memory problems to be a charade. It would be the easiest way to avoid difficult questions about his trip to space.

Clark had hoped the pretty girl in the red dress wouldn't notice him, but tonight was not his night. "I'm sorry, I don't remember... Wait, you're the hallucination that told me I was afraid of heights," Clark said. "You're Chloe aren't you? The girl the party was for? My parents tried to give me a description of who to expect. They didn't do you justice though."

He really didn't remember? Chloe just stared, not sure what to feel at first. "I am Chloe." She had to command herself not to cry. Being Clark's friend while he pined for Lana was a curse, but it suddenly seemed like a blessing. In this moment they were strangers. How could he not remember? It wasn't right or fair. Chloe didn't let her emotions carry her away. She didn't try to shake the memories back into him or scream or even throw anything. She cocked her head to the side and even managed not to cry. "So you hallucinated me? Is that a compliment?"

"You among a couple of other people, so maybe you'd call it a compliment," Clark said. He smiled and gestured for Chloe to join him on the steps. "My parents told me that you know what I am."

"If you mean the whole alien thing, I heard about it, no details as of yet. It took a little getting used to, and I was pretty mad at you for at least ten minutes. I got over it," Chloe said. "Are you making it okay since getting back? I know the Eradicator can work a real whammy on your head. I guess you don't remember but she had a go at my brain too."

"The Eradicator didn't do this to me, not personally anyway. It's a long complicated story that I don't have many pieces of. I'd rather not try and figure it all out right now. It's easier to just try and remember Earth and my family, you know? I came out tonight with plans about recovering my memory and making everything okay."

"The incredible turnout at the party changed your mind? The Clark Kent I know wouldn't have let an overcrowded party stop him from trying to make everything better." Chloe threw an arm around Clark and squeezed him. "You were really missed you know."

Clark felt himself blushing. Chloe was really pretty with her soft creamy skin and the red dress just seemed to set her off, make her glow. "Don't laugh at me, but did we date?" He could feel his blush getting hotter and redder._ Why had he said that?_

He had to be kidding... Chloe's mouth dropped open and she really laughed. "Have you been asking all the girls that, and if you have, what did Lana say?" Clark really was blushing and her response seemed to be making it worse. God, he was serious.

"Lana makes me nervous. It's probably some screwed up association, but I can't help it. Every time I see her I want to hide, run away, avoid her at all costs. Is it a rational thing or did I like her before?"

It was all Chloe could do to keep from laughing again. It was like her secret fantasy brought to life. Clark had developed a Lana aversion? "You guys weren't best friends or anything, but there wasn't any dislike either," Chloe said. "The association thing, does it work with everyone? Do you have an association when you look at me?"

An image rose in Clark's mind's eye - the sun, yellow and bold, baking through him, filling him with pure energy. Blinking back the daydream, Clark proceeded to blush again for a very quizzical Chloe. He reached out and fingered a lock of her choppy blond hair. "Seriously, don't laugh... sunshine."


	31. Epilogue

**-- Epilogue -- **

Far from Earth, on a desert world not frequented by any but the most disreputable of creatures, a small band of criminals, rebels, and pirates gathered for a meeting none of them had initiated. A female biped made her way to the front of the room and turned to face the gathering. She threw back her hood, revealing long black hair and icy blue eyes. "You were summoned here by my master because you share a common enmity. Each of you represent a group which has been wrong or even ignored by the current galactic government. You are the dissenting minority. My master would like to organize you into a cohesive force of anarchy. He would like to fund you, and then wield you against your common enemy."

One of the aliens, an armored creature with dreadlock like projections extending from all the surfaces of it's body, cleared its throat. "Why will we follow this anonymous backer?"

"Because he has the information, the money, and the access to make this work. I am his champion, his Eradicator."

The group of aliens all started talking at once. Some dropped back fearfully. "The Eradicator of worlds, Armageddon in a neat package, I'm honored to make your acquaintance," the dreadlock alien shouted over the din. "Where do I sign on?"

* * *

The Eradicator calmly jacked into the communication system of her ship. "Kal-El, the meeting went well. Most though not all the representatives were very receptive. Some needed to speak with their contingency before a decision could be made. Your army is coming together."

"Very well done, Eradicator. Things will be slowing down a bit for now. Guerilla warfare is about the organization. We don't need your kind of firepower at the moment."

"You do have a plan for me though, correct?" The Eradicator knew a moments fear. Was Kal-El going to punish her now? Would he cut her off?

"I do have a mission for you. I want you to take as long as you need, to find your own mission. Consider it a quest. It doesn't matter what you choose or why, but at the end I expect you to choose yourself a name. I'm tired of referring to you as the Eradicator. A given name for a sentient being should not involve an article. Until you complete this task to my satisfaction, you can't be my champion. You stopped being an Eradicator a long time ago."

Kal-El abandoned his connection with the Eradicator and reveled in his first success. Anarchy agreed with him. As for the Eradicator, he wasn't trying to punish her, whatever it seemed like from her perspective. He'd come to feel almost paternal toward her and her trek toward true sentience. She needed to grow, independent of commands from anyone.

A twinge from the council chamber summoned Kal-El from his extracurricular activities. Dessa was back with a new proposition requiring his vote. To torture the lady in blue or not? Kal-El mentally grinned. Torture was always the fun option.

* * *

_"My Fortress of Solitude, sounds pretentious doesn't it?" _Clark sat with his arms crossed over his knees and his friend Lola resting on the back of his palm. She was drawing a delicate tendril of energy from him leaving his hand just slightly cold. _"I like it up here though. It's a safe place, good for thinking."_

_"For a change you're not constantly flashing me images of some girl, so I guess you are thinking."_

Clark frowned at Lola and shook his head. _"I'm an adolescent, expect the girl thoughts. I can't help it. Aren't you curious about what I'm contemplating? I'm telling you anyway, because I'll need your help."_

_"What, do you need some useless trivia on Krypton? Perhaps you'd like to learn the planetary anthem?"_

Clark laughed and shook his head. _"Not exactly what I had in mind. I was remembering something today. Chloe told me about meteor mutants before she left for Metropolis, and I remembered Kryptonite. I remembered you telling me what it was and what it was doing to humans. Then I had this crazy idea that you could teach me how to fight Kryptonite so it can't hurt anyone anymore." _

_"Not a crazy idea, but it is a dangerous one. Why this sudden resolve? Wouldn't you rather spend your summer trying to remember and just get things back together?"_

Clark looked up at the stars, a place he'd had a glimpse of up close. _"No, that's what I've been telling everyone who asks, but I really need something to keep me busy. A distraction from everyone trying to jog a memory out of me might save my sanity."_ Dinner was still fresh in his mind. No one tried to make him uncomfortable or self-conscious, but his parents had this hopeful searching look they kept leveling him with. He almost felt like he didn't belong here at all. _"Can you help?"_

_"Before I was a two-bit general library, I was some mad powerful red kryptonite. I could teach you to change Kryptonite to Kryptonium. It's a little change, a tweak. It's also a dangerous choice in profession for someone with your weaknesses."_

_"Thanks Lola." _Clark tossed the little rock in the air and pocketed her, effectively ignoring her warnings. _"We can get started tonight. I have an e-mail to write first. I promised Chloe I'd write every day."_

_"Should have known it was a temporary reprieve from the constant girl thoughts. How long will adolescence last? Another couple of years?"_

* * *

A simple dossier folded into a manila folder and stamped classified rested on an otherwise clean mahogany desk. Lex sat forward at his desk, his fingers steepled under his chin. Every odd occurrence centered on Clark, every bit of evidence that Clark wasn't just another boy with bad luck, was compiled in that folder. An unnecessary fire was simmering in the fireplace across the room and if he wanted, Lex could toss the file. He could choose to let it go, to let it die. Maybe he could really let this go?

Instead, Lex opened the file and stared down at the top page, a glossy eight by ten of Clark with his father delivering produce. God, part of him wanted to let this go. "How am I supposed to function and make the right choices when I don't have all the pieces to the puzzle I'm manipulating?" Maybe the Kents would never see their way clear to telling him the truth, but that didn't mean he couldn't figure it out on his own. Besides, Clark didn't actually remember asking him to leave it alone.

Closing the folder, Lex slid the dossier safely into one of the locking drawers on his desk. Maybe he should continue his association with the psychic, Jon Fisk. That man was talented, and Lex had the means to get him on the payroll in a permanent way. There were a lot of options open to him, and all of them led to the truth.

**The End of Book 1 -- The Lost**


	32. Appendix

****

-- Appendix --

**Ascension **– Ritual through which a leader or scholar's mind is copied precisely and functionally into an electronic matrix. This copy is then stored indefinitely as the keeper of a civilization's amassed knowledge. The process is detrimental to the original or organic copy of the mind. Often the process is fatal.

**Eradicator **– Ancient Kryptonian weapon, designed to be indestructible. It has a complex Artificial Intelligence capable of adapting to new situations and reinterpreting directives. The AI is so complex that it destabilizes as time passes and the weapon is considered flawed.

**Eruditocracy** – A combination of the Latin for Knowledge and Government meaning rule by knowledge. The current galactic power structure is based on learning or knowledge.

**Kryptonite **– The original lifeform of Krypton. In its wild state the organism is most commonly green, though it exists in several colors most notably red. Kryptonians, Clark's race, are one of the major energy sources on which Kryptonite feeds. Kryptonite can also attain energy from radiant or thermal sources. Kryptonite is sentient.

**Kryptonium **– Blue kryptonite, a tame/domesticated version of Kryptonite. It lived commensally with the Kryptonians, cooperating with their society in exchange for energy.

**Over Council **– Keepers of knowledge. Originally they were the conquering races of the last galactic war. Currently, they are a collection of aliens who have undergone ascension. They control the trickle of knowledge to the Under Council. Their races are either dead or dying.

**Under Council **– Races recognized by the Over Council. Their societies are still young and growing. If their technologic level should reach a predetermined level, they might be invited to join the Over Council.

**Original Character Summary:**

**Aislinn **– A prostitute who attempted to sell Clark to the highest bidder, while not a villain per se, Aislinn was decidedly mercenary.

**Dessa** – Servant to the Over Council, she is highly devoted to the Eruditocracy. She actually masterminded the activation of the Eradicator in a stalling move.

**Detective Gadwall **– The officer who investigated Clark's disappearance for the Smallville PD.

**The Eradicator** -- Ancient Kryptonian weapon of questionable stability.

**Jason Fisk **– A well known psychic who attempted to find Clark. Unfortunately he chose the moment of ascension to synch up with Clark's mind and the experience traumatized him. He refunded Lex and skipped town.

**Mrs. Pringles** - Smallville High's Sociology teacher.

**Tauten of the Glaufien Nebulae** – One of many aliens who attempted to seize the Kryptonian knowledge base when it appeared there would be no mind to Ascend.

**Physiology and Basic Science:**

**How Clark's powers work:** Clark receives his energy from the sun. In this Alternate Universe, the theory goes that Clark's people are in a sense, a cross between a carbon based lifeforms and the crystalline lifeform of Kryptonite. They store and use energy much the same way as Kryptonite only with more efficiency. Organic food is necessary only for growth/building blocks, not energy production.

**The Formation of meteor mutants:** The theory goes that Kryptonite is starving. The high energy rock can't subsist on the yellow sun of Earth alone. To compensate, the sentient rocks are manipulating humans in an effort to create a palatable energy. They would like to be able to feed on humans like they do on Clark.

**The Red Sun vs. Yellow Sun Question:** The question comes when you point out that a red sun is lower energy than a yellow sun. While this statement is true, biology has a tendency to be very specific. In this AU, the Kryptonite evolved to deal with the diminishing energy of their sun by developing a parasitic relationship with Clark's people. The Kryptonians dealt with the problem by becoming increasingly efficient radiation users, absorbing a wider variety of spectrums and storing that energy more efficiently. As they became more technologically advanced, the Kryptonians learned to deal with Kryptonite as Kryptonium and their commensal relationship resulted. On Earth where they're dealing with a completely different spectrum of radiation Clark is much more adaptable to this situation. The Kryptonite can only absorb a very narrow range of radiation and their parasite host life-cycle is broken without anything to feed on. In short, Clark is thriving on high energy radiation, while the Kryptonite starves in the face of plenty, unable to absorb the energy surrounding it.

Metaphor: A cow can't survive on corn alone. They evolved to eat roughage and corn will bloat and kill them. Humans can't survive on grass. We just can't digest it. Humans and cows live on the same planet but survive by different rules. The same goes for Clark and Kryptonite.

**Clark and Kryptonite, the Proximity Issue:** This issue arose out of the fact that Clark was in the room with a piece of Kryptonite and didn't suffer any ill affects, or even for that matter notice its presence. Why? In Smallville Kryptonite has a definite proximity issue. Approximately 5 feet in the pilot, seemingly more ambiguous in other episodes. The biggest issue for Clark seems to be seeing the bad bad rock. Maybe it's all psychosomatic? Just kidding. In the scene in question, Clark never made it within 5 feet of the Kryptonite. I didn't adress the issue directly, instead leaving it dangling. An issue I plan to address in the rewrite someday.

Glossary: 


	33. Genesis: Chapter 1 The Role

**Genesis**

**Summary: Kal-El vs. the Galaxy, with a war to distract the Eradicator, Clark might actually have to find his own trouble for a change. **

**-- Chapter 1 -- The Role -- **

_Life is an electrical current, a spark running through a billion cells. You have to understand your own life before you can touch another life. Focus inside. Let go of the boards under your legs. Focus on the cool air flowing into your lungs. The oxygen crossing into your blood and rushing through your heart to every cell nurtures the spark of life. Follow the oxygen into the cell. Do you see it? Can you see the spark?_

* * *

A pot of deep red sauce simmered and steamed, filling the little kitchen with the pungent aroma of garlic and oregano. Martha scooped a spoon of the sauce out and tasted it. "Perfect." Spaghetti from scratch with fresh garlic, it was one of Clark's favorites. This summer had been an exercise in making meals she knew Clark liked. A book from the library had said that scents and tastes could be the most potent links to memory, and Clark still didn't remember anything. Martha stirred harder and blinked back a couple of unwanted tears. Her baby was home even if he never remembered them. It wasn't like they were living with a stranger. She did everything she could think of to try and make Clark feel at home and comfortable, but he didn't talk to her about anything. He was so obviously unsure and awkward around both his parents. "Jonathan, could you go get Clark? Dinner is ready," Martha said.

"I'm on it," Jonathan said. He slid the last plate onto the table and headed for Clark's fortress of solitude. The sun was all but gone, leaving pink smudges above the horizon. It shouldn't have been a big deal, fetching his son in for dinner. Jonathan could admit the truth though: it was hard to talk to Clark. He would meet your eyes, but it wasn't a son's look to his father. Like he'd never been before, Clark was an alien. Maybe he was just looking for his home and identity and family, but things weren't falling back together. Clark was still so unsure of them all, of everything. Without memory, the trust was missing. The only thing Clark seemed to hold any genuine unencumbered affection for was his rock, Lola. Jonathan had to refrain from grinding his teeth at that thought. His son could hardly carry on a polite conversation with his parents, but an alien rock he could trust.

"Clark?" Jonathan made his way into the barn and squinted into the dim light. His son was sitting lotus style, his damn rock hovering around him, spinning and glowing like some demented satellite. The rock wasn't the only thing hovering though. His son wasn't resting on the floorboards. He'd cleared them by a couple of feet. "Clark?!"

Almost like a cartoon realizing he'd run off a cliff, Clark's eyes flew open and he tumbled to the floor. "I almost had it," Clark groaned. He seemed to notice his father's shocked expression and snatched Lola out of the air. "What? Did I do something wrong again?"

Jonathan shook his head quickly._ Don't think that I'm pushing you away or disapproving. _"You didn't do anything wrong, okay? You were levitating. I didn't know you could do that." What else was Clark keeping from them?

_Are you scared then? You don't know what to make of me, do you? How had they gotten along before? Was he supposed to hide his differences? _"I'm not doing it consciously. Lola was just teaching me a meditation technique..."_ ...and you hate Lola. _"I'm sorry if I upset you. Did I forget a chore or something?"

"Dinner," Jonathan said. "It's time for dinner." How was he supposed to ask Clark what was going on with him when he was so aloof and polite, like a guest instead of family? "We could talk if you want? What's up with this meditating stuff? You've been doing a lot of it this summer."

Clark shrugged and joined his father on the bottom floor. "It's a pet project."_ You probably wouldn't approve. Odd alien activities like training to fight Kryptonite would just freak you out to a new degree. _

"Your mother thinks you're trying to get your memory back. Is she right?" Jonathan asked.

"Not exactly, I'd really like to remember, but I'm not spending hours up here trying to reroute my own brain. You have to let things like that take their own course, and sometimes it just doesn't work out." _Could you live with that? If I don't remember will you be able to handle me? _

"We love you whether you remember or not," Jonathan said. And if we love you well enough and long enough, you might not remember the past, but we'll still be your family.

Clark started the walk to the house without answering or meeting his father's eyes. He was coming to really hate that statement: I love you. His parents told him they loved him every day, more than once a day, like they were trying to convince him or themselves. Clark never quite knew what to say. Should he thank them or tell them he loved them? He didn't even remember them really and a thank you seemed strange, cold. Lola could tell how much those moments upset him, and she always started singing. Thank God for Lola.

Jonathan didn't try to break the uncomfortable silence that settled between them. They had to keep telling Clark the simple things like I love you even if it was hard. Eventually, it would pay off. Eventually Clark would respond. Maybe it wouldn't be because he remembered anything but because he learned to be a part of this family again.

Martha was approximately two seconds from going to fetch the boys when they walked through the door. Dinner was on the table getting cold, and she wanted Clark to get the full effect of tangy Italian spaghetti. "I was about to send out a search party. This is one of your favorites, Clark."

Sitting down, Clark smiled and nodded, mentally tallying up his favorites: lasagna, eggs and bacon, turkey with stuffing, corn casserole, blueberry pie, etc. If his mother was to be believed, he really loved to eat. She kept throwing foods at him and telling him what he liked and how he liked it. She couldn't just let him sit, taste it, and decide for himself. It wasn't just food either. She told him what he like to wear, how he parted his hair, the chores he liked and didn't like. At first it had been okay. He was an amnesiac, and some direction was helpful. It wasn't working for him anymore though. There were a hundred million things that made up Clark Kent, and he felt like his mom was trying to teach him each one. She was teaching him how to be Clark. She made him feel like some blank marionette that needed painting and animation. It was like he wasn't a real person. "It smells nice."

"So, how was work today, guys? I missed your company working in the tomatoes," Martha said. She dipped out Clark's spaghetti for him, adding parmesan and dried seasoning just the way he liked.

"Clark brought the cows in by himself like an old pro, and I'd say we're ready for slaughter next week, knock on wood." Jonathan smiled at Clark, encouraging him to share something.

"We raise cows for slaughter?" Clark frowned and picked a bit of beef out of the spaghetti. "I hadn't really thought about it, you know."

"They may look like two ton pasture ornaments, but they're really just hamburgers in waiting," Jonathan said. He grinned at Clark, trying to connect for even a moment.

Clark was upset about the fate awaiting the cows he'd been herding for a couple of seconds, but it wasn't like he didn't understand how life worked. You had to eat, and humans ate cows. Clark returned Jonathan's smile and tried the spaghetti. "Did we raise this beef?"

"That's supermarket fare," Martha said. The meal continued in silence for a few minutes while everyone attacked their meal. It was almost like a meal from before the Eradicator tried to destroy everything. They almost felt like a family again. "So have you had any new memories surface today?"

Clark let his fork of spaghetti trail back to the plate. Another moment he dreaded: the daily memory recovery recap. It always left him feeling like a failure. Didn't they realize that if he remembered anything worth reporting, they were at the top of the list to find out. "Sorry, nothing today."

Martha shrugged and smiled. It wasn't like she expected him to say he'd remembered anything. "Tomorrow is a market day, and I was thinking we should all go and make a day of it, you know? There's nothing pressing on the farm that can't wait one day."

"Excellent idea," Jonathan said. "You always liked the farmer's market, Clark. When you were about five, you discovered the sheep pens. I've never considered keeping sheep, wouldn't know what to do with them, but you fell in love with this one lamb. If memory serves, you called him Fluffy. You almost talked me into bringing a few home, almost."

"Okay, okay, sounds fun," Clark said. We'll just get your hopes up. Walk me down memory lane, and when I don't remember, you can just tell me how I'm supposed to feel.

* * *

Once safely sealed into his room, Clark took out Lola. She whispered into his brain trying to calm him down. _"They mean well. They love you. No one wants to hurt you." _

_"They don't even know me! I can't keep going on like this. I feel like I'm in a movie playing Clark Kent. I have all these lists in my head: what Clark likes, what Clark eats, what Clark listens to, how Clark walks and speaks and sleeps. I'm not their son. I don't remember how to be him, and they keep reminding me of that." _

_"You have to talk to them. Tell them what you're feeling. They can't read your mind," _Lola scolded. _"This is your home, whether you remember it or not. Are you going to let things keep deteriorating until the hard feelings have gotten so deep you can't forgive them?" _

Clark collapsed onto his bed and nodded. _"I should tell them, but it's like I'm telling them that their son is really dead. Those fifteen years are gone, and me, an alien stranger who hardly knows how to talk to them, is all they get out of the deal." _

_"You're not a stranger though. The mind I touched and knew before ascension is not so different from your mind now. Just because you don't remember everything doesn't make you a completely different person. This doesn't matter so much." _

_"It does to them. They say they love me, and they want to help me, but they just want their son back." _Clark dropped Lola onto his nightstand and sighed._ "I shouldn't have come back here. Everyone would have been better off if I'd just stayed lost."_

* * *

Smog, acrid and biting, mixed liberally with car exhaust, hotdog smell, and some dime store perfume, Chloe grinned and breathed deep. Metropolis smelled like home. The Daily Planet internship had officially ended the day before, but the bus ticket home wasn't until tomorrow morning. It left her one night to enjoy Metropolis for its own sake. There were friends to visit and stores she'd missed. Tonight was going to be a real blast, but first, e-mail.

Chloe booted up her computer and waited for that tell-tale announcement, You've got mail. Every night she had at least one message from Clark. She'd made him promise to write, and he hadn't let her down. At first the messages were about being home and safe and how happy he was to finally know where he belonged. She'd asked a thousand questions about what he was and what he could do. Some of the things he'd told her would have to be seen before she could really believe. The messages did what she wanted in the end. They kept a friendship alive and well, when in the face of amnesia and a summer apart, it shouldn't have survived.

Chloe frowned at her dial up box and crossed her arms. Gradually, Clark's messages had changed. It was a subtle thing. He stopped mentioning his parents, and he never spoke about being home. He hadn't come out and said what was wrong, or that he wasn't happy. Chloe was a reporter though, and she could read between the lines. She'd tried some gentle questions to find out what was wrong, but Clark had ignored them.

Bringing up her inbox, Chloe made quick work of the spam she'd garnered. Clark had only sent one message this time, and she brought it up.

**TO:  
FROM:  
SUBJECT: RE: An Alien, a Cow, and a Reporter Walk Into a Bar**

_Hi Chloe, _

_Nice joke, you should be writing for Leno. That wasn't sarcasm. I laughed, really! _

_... _

_I've been sitting here just staring at the screen. I can't decide what to write.  
I made a reply to the joke, and I should probably be able to come up with something  
witty for you to have a laugh over. It's just not coming. _

_You see I'm angry and frustrated. I'm not angry with you and you don't deserve to  
have me vent all this pent up emotion at you, but Lola is being too philosophical  
(and logical) and I'm not communicating very well with my parents lately. I guess  
you could say communicating with my parents is the problem entirely. _

_I don't remember them or much of anything from before. They're trying to help and  
to fill in the holes for me. They tell me what I like to eat and what I like to wear.  
They tell me which television shows I watch and who I'm friends with. They're teaching  
me how to be the son they lost, but they can't expect me to live like that can they?  
Do they expect me to follow their directions and act the part of their son? Why can't  
they just let me figure out who I am and accept that? _

_Then there's Lola. Neither of them has actually come out and said anything but my  
parents hate her. I don't understand why. She's my friend. She woke me up when I  
was in a coma after ascension. The only constant I have is that rock. _

_Stopping now. I'm sorry for throwing all this at you. You're on your last night in  
Metropolis and you need to be partying. You're just...you're the only person who hasn't  
tried to make me into the Clark Kent they remember. You and Lola are my two real friends  
here, and I guess I want to say thanks. _

_I'm looking forward to seeing you in person and I hope you have a great trip back. _

_ttyl, _

_Clark _

Chloe read over the message twice before hitting the reply key. She'd suspected Clark was having problems, but she hadn't guessed it would be anything like this. He'd always been so close with his parents. There were a couple of things in there that she didn't quite understand. Lola had already come up in their correspondence, but what was ascension and why had it put him in a coma? Whatever it was, it had to be the culprit for his memory loss. Chloe reigned in her urge to ask questions and tried to address the important part of the message.

**TO:  
FROM:  
SUBJECT: The Secret of Communication**

_Clark, buddy, have you tried talking to your parents? I'm not there and I can't say  
anything absolutely, but talking is half the battle. If you tell them what's wrong,  
maybe you guys can work it out? _

_As for anyone trying to remake you in your own likeness, be assertive. You are who you  
are, not who you were. I think your parents will be able to accept that if you explain  
it to them. _

_I'll see you tomorrow, Clark, and we can talk for real. _

_Sincerely, _

_Chloe _


	34. Chapter 2 Casualties

**-- Chapter 2 -- Casualties --**

Alien beings of various colors and body types filled a large room with low ceilings. The gray ceiling and floor sloped just slightly with the curve of the building's spherical architecture, giving the room a feeling of motion and claustrophobia even though it stretched nearly a hundred meters in width. The aliens were radically varied from tiny insectoid creatures to multi-limbed monsters that could barely squeeze into the room. A white uniform with gold accents, modified to fit the various aliens, unified the menagerie into cohesive whole. A shaggy, fur covered biped stood in front of the enclave and addressed the gathering.

"Trade routes, those strictly regulated tunnels through space, are the lifeblood of our Galactic Empire. They provide swift, safe, economical transit for freight between worlds. They move medicine, fuel, clothing, water, food, munitions. If a trade route should fall for any length of time, people would starve and perish from disease. Whole planets might fall into chaos and anarchy when deprived of their Over Lords.

"Who in their right mind would target a trade route? The Anarchists, and the terrorists, Hell even the run of the mill wackos, they're crazy enough to do it. There are more than three thousand attempts made on the trade routes every year. They never succeed. Can you fathom why that is? Three thousand attempts and we're still standing.

"While the trade routes are the single most targeted structure in the Galaxy, they are also the most fiercely protected. You are the elite of the Galactic Defense Force. You are the sentries standing guard against the chaos of anarchy. With your help, the farmers and traders, women and children, will continue their uneventful lives, unaware of the attacks on their lifeline. Welcome to Command Central."

Alfzo, one of the smaller creatures with a slick black exoskeleton, craned his multi-jointed neck and merged into the flow of soldiers out of the room. The speech had been meant to motivate and impress, but Alfzo wasn't a child or a zealot for fighting. The commander offered them their roles in a glorified speech about preserving the Galaxy, but for first year that role would be death for nearly eighty percent of them. Learning to pilot and fight around the dangerous slipstreams of the trade routes claimed more lives than any terrorists. It was obvious that some of the new recruits had taken their commander's words to heart. They were puffed up and walking around like champions. How easily they forgot the statistics their academy instructors taught them.

They were mostly dead men, but today they were heroes and good for them.

_I'm a hero too. _Alfzo grinned to himself, his slick gray unblinking eyes shining. _But I'm not their idea of a hero. _

Alfzo was a Xin. His species held no representation in even the Under Council. The official documentation identified them as too underdeveloped to qualify for a council seat, but the actual politics of it were very different. The Xin were as developed as anyone else in the Under Council, but they held no monopoly with which to bargain, and no one wished to further dilute their power by adding another voice to the din. Like a hundred other races, the Xin were used and abused like pack animals. Cannon fodder for war, and warm bodies for grunt work, they were without rights or privileges. With no voice to protest, the situation could never change. Alfzo watch these soldiers heading for their rooms and their meals. _They stand against the darkness that is anarchy and chaos, while I stand with the oppressed, crying out for a voice. _Before being tapped for battle training, Alfzo had been a teacher, a philosopher. The powers that be had no concept of value when it came to the Xin's society. The Xin were numbered and treated as uniform cattle. Things had to change. Tyranny could not be tolerated indefinitely.

Watching these soldiers Alfzo was saddened by what was to come. These soldiers weren't the offenders who oppressed his people. Most of them shared a similar situation. The ordinary citizens who depended on the trade routes weren't the villains either. So many would suffer, but sometimes blood was the price of freedom. Alfzo didn't seek out his room or the evening meal. Instead he made his way to the nearest repair tunnel and began a slow trek into the bowels of the Space Station. The tunnels were calming to him. Tight and dim, they were almost like the burrows of home. Before coming to this place, before taking this mission, Alfzo spoke to his family, his life mate and their larvae. He told them that he had been approached by some of the commander's anarchists, patriots. He explained tyranny and representation and freedom. Then he said goodbye. The sorrowful clicking of his mate still echoed in his head, and the bewildered expressions of his larvae never left his mind. Maybe, someday, in some small part due to his sacrifice, those children would be free.

The access port the patriots had told him about was small and unobtrusive. Would this even work? Could he really do this? Those men were soldiers, trained to fight. They knew that this battle would take most of their lives. Those creatures harbored no illusions. Alfzo's slick hand hovered over the circuit, and he clipped through the wire. If this worked, he and his fellow soldiers were dead now. The tunnel went dark, and Alfzo began to pray for his soul._ Forgive me. I do this for my children. _

* * *

A child's library with knee high plastic seats and shelves of colorful thin books housed a mind, an alien, an overlord of the galaxy. The computer program's matrix was taken from his mind at ascension, but Kal-El wished he could change it. It should be something more alien, less reminiscent of his home, and the humanity he had been forced to forsake. This part of the program was immutable, so instead he focused on what he could change. The central portion of the library held a three dimensional display of the Galaxy, complete with flags marking political alliances and power centers. Over the system, the trade routes tied it all together with their complicated net of passageways. Kal-El loved this display. It was like playing Risk from his childhood. From this distance, you were moving plastic horses and cannons around a pretty game board. You didn't have to look at the ugliness, the living and dying, the blood and pain of war.

"Trade Route Defense – Command Central, zoom in...Stop," Kal-El said. Now the display was filled with a spherical space station large enough to be a small moon. The rotation of the station ceased, and it hung silently for a long moment. Like a bird sucked into a hurricane, the station began to drift toward the turbulent green streams of the trade route nexus. The station shrieked and crumbled. Rather than exploding, the station fell out of existence, imploding into the trade routes. The green light of the trade routes turned red and vanished from the screen.

Kal-El laughed and replayed the destruction. "Step one, end meaningful travel and make them hungry." He spared a couple of subroutines to monitor the Over Council chamber. The uproar had begun already. There shouldn't have been a tragedy big enough to bring the entire Over Council out of their mental prisons. It was simply unheard of. The end of trade in the galaxy was apparently enough to break that cardinal truth.

Kal-El listened to their random arguments and exclamations.

_Who could have done this? _

_How will we repair it? _

_Who can be trusted to fix things? _

_The defense force is gone. Who will defend it when we repair it? _

In a moment, Dessa would step in and start funneling the discussion. It had taken quite a while for Kal-El to realize that these corpses manning the Over Council only got anything done through Dessa, their puppet master. If it weren't for her presence, they would argue into eternity, proposing and supposing. She took their abstractions and made them actions, picking and choosing the routes which best preserved her blessed Eruditocracy.

Kal-El projected himself into the room as a hologram, setting himself apart from his fellow council members and their flat screens. It was time to influence this graveyard. They were used to letting Dessa lead the show. Today, they'd learn to follow a different lead. "Before we can act we have to identify a perpetrator."

The aliens behind their screens shifted to Kal-El's topic.

_The junior member makes a good point. _

_But there are a thousand different groups who wish to destroy us and our council. _

_It could be anyone. _

_Anyone. _

_Anyone. _

"I beg to differ," Kal-El snapped. "Our government is an Eruditocracy. The attack originated from the inside of our Defensive Command Center. The perpetrator of this act was informed, intelligent, and brutal, but the only aliens on that station were the underdeveloped unrepresented cannon fodder we throw at the terrorists yearly."

_The underdeveloped were not alone on that station. The Vorians supervise our defense. _

_The station was full of Vorians. _

_A Vorian would know enough about the Command Center to disable its thrusters. _

_We were betrayed by the Vorians. They must be punished. _

_This is a crime against the whole galaxy. What punishment is adequate? _

_Can we punish the race for the acts of a few who surely died along with the victims? _

Kal-El reveled in the spiral this discussion was following. I am the puppet master now. "We must not stand for this, my fellow council members. An example must be made. I say, strip them of their rights and seat in the Under Council. Then annihilate them, scour them from the galaxy."

"A bit blood thirsty wouldn't you say," Dessa hissed. She couldn't stand back and let this situation continue to disintegrate. Kal-El was successfully steering the discussion, but he was still unstable and unpredictable. His personality had not yet recovered from Ascension. She was beginning to wonder if it ever would. "If we start a fight with the Vorians..."

"Silence!" Kal-El turned a cold stare to Dessa. "You overstep yourself. Speak again, and I'll silence you in a more permanent way. Continue the discussion."

_The proposal is harsh, Kal-El of Krypton. _

_Very harsh. _

_The crime was harsh though. Millions will die before this has played out. Blood for blood is fair. _

_Kill them. _

_No, their will be repercussions. The entire race is not to blame. _

_My people never liked the Vorians, a blood thirsty lot. Kill them now before they turn on us again. _

_Kill them, for the innocents who perish by their actions. _

"A vote then," Kal-El said. "I call for a vote."

Her skeletal white hands clutched together, Dessa marshaled her courage to speak. If she didn't speak, this would go forward and there would be war. Couldn't Kal-El see what he was starting? This fight would split the Under Council. The Eighth Galactic Civil War would begin with this act, and there was no way to know how it would all turn out. "This is a mistake," Dessa cried. "If you vote to kill, you vote for war."

The room fell silent for a long moment, and Kal-El turned to Dessa with a wicked grin. "You accused the Over Council of a Mistake. The Over Council is never wrong. We know better than you, child. I warned you once not to speak. Take that advice, or I will dismiss you of your duties. Consider yourself warned for the second time."

They had to see what Kal-El was doing, didn't they? Dessa cringed and waited for the vote.

"I vote to exterminate," Kal-El said.

_Kill them. _

_Eliminate them. _

_I dissent. Another way is possible. _

_Kill. _

_Kill. _

Dessa was tempted to cover her ears and scream. This was the wrong choice. And the votes kept coming, so many for kill, so few dissenters. This was an Eruditocracy. Things like this should never happen. Those with knowledge rule. Why couldn't they see?

Then it was time for the last vote, the word of the first ascendant, the oldest and wisest of the Over Council. She rarely bothered to vote much less project her likeness into a council meeting, but her heavily lined gray face stared out at her fellow council members. _"We are the strong. We hold the power in this galaxy. Some appear to have forgotten that simple truth. As you all realize, this will mean war. Wars can be good, cleansing and healthy. I say kill them, and any who would stand against us." _The alien's projected image grinned, deepening the dramatic creases in its face. _"The process has been slow because he was so young, but I feel that our Kryptonian brother has finally found his place here. I fought alongside a Kryptonian in life. It honors me to stand with one today."_

"No," Dessa whispered. "This is a mistake." With those simple sacrilegious words, Dessa realized the truth of the Over Council. They were dead men and women, preserved beyond their lives. They weren't Gods, and they weren't perfect. Suddenly a large portion of them seemed quite insane. "I don't understand."

The vote was over and the decisions made. The rest of the Over Council disappeared back to their personal mental universes, but Kal-El stayed behind. "Are you okay, Dessa? You seem paler than usual. If you fade any more, you'll be transparent."

"Why did you do this? Are you so unhappy with your life that you have to make the rest of the galaxy suffer? How self centered are you?" Dessa moaned. She clutched her dress into her fists, actually ripping at the delicate white fabric.

"Life is a generous assessment, and I'm an adolescent, the definition for self-centered. Dessa dear, you let the dead rule you. Maybe you'll learn something when we start stinking up this place." Kal-El's hologram moved over and crouched next to Dessa. "I'll have my revenge and my freedom. Can you hear it coming? I hear the drums of war." And he left her, returning to the library from his childhood and his game board.

"Step two: talk the Over Council into picking a fight." Kal-El circled his map, the light dancing over his numb insubstantial skin. He spared no thoughts for the suffering in the galaxy, the hunger or the dying. They needed a good purging, not just for his freedom but for their own good. This galaxy had problems hidden under the rug, stagnant injustices that no one in power cared about. It was time to shake this little snow globe, and let the power fall where it would.

"You're insane, you know."

"People keep telling me that." Kal-El stepped back, studiously masking his shock that anyone could invade his inner sanctum. The intruder projected her body, a gray caterpillar-like form adjacent to his game board. It was the eldest ascendant invading his brain then, typical. "How did you get in here? This is my sanctum, my mind."

"I came to see your plan. Would you like to explain it to me, or should I speculate?" she asked. With a casual twist to her dry gray form, she examined Kal-El's hologram.

"I don't have a plan. I'm just trying to do what's best for the galaxy," Kal-El said. "Isn't that what Over Council members do? I thought you supported my new attitude."

"I said what I meant out there. The galaxy is over due for a house cleaning. I stood at the fore of the Seventh Galactic War, and it was a righteous conflict. We tried to make it better for all time, but we just created stagnation. Did you really think you were the only one who could see it? This system can't continue. The longer I linger in this in-between place, the less I understand life. I'm not fit to rule a kindergarten at this point, much less the galaxy. I realized my inadequacies several centuries ago, and I've been trying to remove myself from the decision making process in this government ever since. I didn't have the balls to wreak the havoc you've started, but I'm not insane."

Kal-El crossed his arms and shrugged. "So I'm insane, and maybe I have a plan. Who's denying it? It's getting the job done, isn't it?"

"Did I say it was a bad thing?"


	35. Chapter 3 Petes Bright Idea

**

**

-- Chapter 3 -- Pete's Bright Idea --

  
  


Chloe threw her last bag over her shoulder and boarded the charter bus for home. The bus was pretty full for a one way out of Metropolis, but then the only stop wasn't Smallville. She took a seat next to an old woman who looked like she might sleep rather than try to talk and stowed her bag. Now if she could just get Pete on the phone... 

Being away in Metropolis all summer should have been a major obstacle to resurrecting a friendship with Clark. Who knew that reintegrating an amnesiac alien into his home could be as difficult as it had turned out though? Clark was feeling alienated from everyone and everything, no pun intended. All those people back home had spent the summer trying to turn him into Clark Kent, to help him. Lucky for her, she spent her summer fetching coffee for some of the greatest print journalists in the world. The free time e-mail tag with Clark was spent more on what her alien friend was than who he was or what he remembered. He was so much the same in those correspondences that she'd forgotten about the amnesia most of the time. Occasionally, he'd ask about a reference that he didn't remember, and it would hit her: Clark didn't remember her or anything they'd been through together. As far as he remembered, it was a new relationship without history or baggage. 

If Chloe hadn't been so caught up with defining what he was, she might have fallen into the trap his parents had. Honestly, she'd done quite a bit of reading on memory recovery strategies, and if she'd had a little better proximity, Clark could have been annoyed and alienated over the flash cards and life synopses she'd have rained on his head. 

_ Must not let Pete go through with operation- This Is Your Life._ Chloe dialed up Pete for the fiftieth time since last night and counted rings. His voice mail picked up again on ring seven, and Chloe sighed. "Pete, this is very important. You have to call me back the moment you get this, okay? Where are you anyway? I've been calling since last night!" Snapping her phone shut, Chloe slouched low in her seat and waited for the bus to get going. Maybe she'd get back to Smallville in time to derail Pete in person?

* * *

A steady stream of people flowed through the booths of produce and livestock at the county farmer's market. Clark sat quietly behind his parents' booth and just watched the people. Everyone was so similar. Most folks were wearing flannel in one color or another with faded jeans, the uniform of the Midwest farmer. This was almost like the time he'd spent on Azar, alien watching. There he'd been searching for anyone like him. He'd been alone and confused. Well here was a world full of people who, at least superficially, were just like him. 

Jonathan and Martha Kent, his parents, they fit into this world perfectly. They were a smiling, flannel-sporting, postcard for Kansas living. How had they ever survived an alien son? Martha leaned over to help a woman with her squash, and Clark couldn't help grinning. His parents told him he was stronger than the average human by a lot, but he hadn't really understood how weak they were until he was working alongside them. At first he felt kind of superior, but then he just got scared. Sure they were getting on his nerves a little, and they were shoving his own identity down his throat, but they were his parents, the only thing tying him to this world, and they were so delicate. Any random thing could come along and snuff them out. 

"Clark, load up Mrs. Henry's corn and peas for her, would you?" Jonathan asked. 

"I'm on it." Clark scooped up one of the bushel baskets, feigning effort. 

"You're a very strong young man. Thank you." Mrs. Henry, an older lady with bright brown eyes and bluish hair, slipped a dollar into Clark's hand after he had her produce settled and tottered away. 

"Thanks." After Mrs. Henry's truck was already rolling away, Clark snapped the crisp dollar at his father. "It is okay if I accept tips?" 

"Another one like that and you'll have a cup of coffee paid for," Jonathan quipped. He leaned in and added, "Try making it look a little harder there. A bushel of corn is heavy. You looked like you were carrying a bushel of air. Grunt a little." 

It was just a comment on his acting skills, but Clark immediately bristled at the criticism. "I'll try that, grunt. I'll just wait over here for my next big load." 

Jonathan saw Clark's hand go into his pocket as he walked away, and he wanted to hit something. His son never went anywhere without his rock, and apparently, Lola had a comment on their conversation. Jonathan couldn't help feeling Lola was to blame for their problems with Clark. The damn rock was keeping him at arms length. I hate that stupid... 

"Jon, breathe." Martha slipped an arm around his back and squeezed him. "You looked like you were about to throw something? What's wrong?" 

"I'd like to throw something, that rock. I was talking to Clark, and he dropped his hand into his pocket..." 

"And you knew he was fundamentally gone," Martha finished. "Today's been nice. There's no reason to ruin it by starting something. I think it's time to sit Clark down and have a little talk about some things too but not today. Breakfast, tomorrow?" 

"How do you do that, catch my mood swings before I do? I'll let it rest until tomorrow, but only because Pete is doing his thing this afternoon." Jonathan dropped a peck on his wife's cheek and chuckled. "I'm pretty pathetic, jealous of a rock." 

Martha turned and stared at Clark, the picture of a bored teenager at market, except she knew where his mind was. "If you're pathetic, so am I." 

* * *

Long, thin, razor sharp, Lex stared at the rapier on his desk, a real weapon. The hilt of the sword was utilitarian and wrapped in worn black leather. The leather felt right under his hand and Lex hefted the weapon. It was heavier than his foil, and the balance was different too. His foil wasn't meant to kill, but this sword had been bathed in blood a thousand times. The dealer claimed it was an authentic Renaissance era weapon which had seen heavy use. The way the leather conformed to his fingers, ancient but not cracked or broken. The artisans of the era made this weapon to last. 

Lex imagined his father across from him with a similar sword, except gilded and shiny. Like a man possessed, he fought the ghost, parrying and thrusting and blocking. Lionel was laughing though. His cold blue eyes stared straight through him, accused him, and claimed him all at once. _We are the same. _ Lex thrust his sword forward through the heart of the ghost and into a petunia in one of the paintings on his wall. 

"What did the De Gas ever do to you?" 

This time it wasn't a ghost Lex turned to face. His father had returned for another sparing session, more likely verbal than with foils. Words had always been the weapon of choice in their relationship. "Dad, what brings you to town? Are you here to check on the plant again? Despite the economy, we're still in the green. Shouldn't you be checking on some of your less fortunate enterprises?" 

"I need a reason to visit my only son?" Lionel walked over and pulled Lex's new sword out of the wall. "Don't tell me you're still collecting rusty weapons? You could hurt yourself or more artwork with this thing." 

Lex snatched his sword away from his father and shrugged. "I'm not a five year old. You don't have to tell me what's dangerous. Not that you were ever into active parenting." 

"I beg to differ."_ Maybe we never had a traditional father son relationship, but I made you strong. _ "I was there at every big crossroad, every time you succeeded or failed." Lionel grinned at Lex and thumped his shoulder. "I've got a new crossroads for you today." 

"Haven't you found someone to save LuthorCorp Chemical in Detroit yet? It must be a real lemon." Lex settled his sword on a swathe of soft crimson cloth and wrapped it up. "Where's the pitch? You're wasting my time." 

"Maybe it isn't LuthorCorp Chemical. Maybe it isn't a lemon at all." Why didn't Lex even look interested? Well that could be remedied. "You've been transferred to our Metropolis-Based Fiscal Risk division. The board has stamped and sealed your fate, and your replacement at the fertilizer plant is in transit. I'd start packing if I were you." 

The bastard was smiling like the cat who swallowed the canary. Lex was sorely tempted to unwrap the sword in front of him and reenact his fantasy, skewering the smug bastard. _ Never let him know he's won a victory._ "Sorry, I can't see myself working insurance even in Metropolis." Lex chuckled and sat on his desk casually. "You really think you have that much power over me. I hate to disappoint, but you'll have my resignation in the morning. Be sure to tell the replacement that the house isn't part of the deal. Mom left it to me, if you recall." 

"Touche." _Never let anyone, not even me, push you around, good. _ "Whatever will you do with yourself out here? Live off your trust fund and charm the locals. It sounds pretty boring to me." 

_ You haven't met the right locals. _"I have unfinished business in Smallville. When I'm ready, I'll see you in Metropolis on my own terms. Try to be patient." 

Lionel considered raging at Lex, making a nice dramatic scene of it. _ Not this time, _he decided,_ placate instead. _There was something in Smallville, something Lex was willing to walk away from LuthorCorp over. Maybe it was time to spend a little quality time in the country? "You should think long and hard before burning bridges, Lex. A resignation would be hard to take back." 

"Maybe, some burning bridges would help me find a better direction..."_...a direction that doesn't involve you. _"If you'll excuse me, I have an appointment." 

* * *

Freedom at last, Clark made his way through the different farms' booths and displays. For once his parents had let him go off on his own. Getting a ten minute break that didn't involve a tour or a flashback to his childhood was such a relief. 

"Hey, Kent, catch." 

Clark turned in time to intercept a bright green apple sailing at his mid-section. The man who threw it, an older guy with a Mitchell's Orchard hat, waved him over. "Thanks, do I owe you anything?" Was this someone he was supposed to remember? Of course it was. Clark Kent knew everybody around here. Surely, the word had gotten around about the amnesia though. This guy wouldn't expect much, would he? 

"Are you kidding? You worked afternoons at the orchard for three summers. With what I paid, you're owed. Trust me." Mr. Mitchell set a half-bushel of mixed red and green apples out on his tail-gate and pushed them toward Clark. "These are for your mother. Liza wasn't up to baking anything, but we really appreciate the food she sent over." 

"They're nice," Clark said. There wasn't any use wracking his brain for some sliver of information on this man or his family. It wasn't there. "I'll tell Mom. I'm sure she'll appreciate them." 

Mr. Mitchell took off his hat, exposing a matt of white hair, and his gaze dropped to his feet. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable, but it's good you're back. It isn't any secret that you have a few memory problems, and I know it's probably hard dealing with a lot of people you don't rightly remember. I guess..." Clark wished he could walk up to this man, clap him on the shoulder, and just reassure him. He wished he could smile and reminisce about those three summers of orchard work, but he couldn't. "I guess the boys and Liza, we all want you to know we've been praying for you, and you best come to dinner some time." 

"Thanks," Clark said. "I'd love to have dinner some time and meet everybody again." And he did want to have dinner and meet these people. As long as they understood it would be a first meeting for him. "I apologize for not remembering, but is Liza your wife? Is she ill?" 

"Yeah, she's my wife, and she hasn't been well for a long time. She's always thought a lot of you and your momma and daddy. I don't want you to worry about not remembering. Everything happens for a reason. If God takes something, he gives back ten fold. Sometimes it's hard to see the gift, but you have to have faith. You're going to be fine Clark. I know it." 

Clark lifted the apples, adding a grunt for good measure and waved to Mr. Mitchell. _ Everything happens for a reason. _His dad had already tried that line on him. Mr. Mitchell added in a twist of religion with the whole faith bit. Clark's parents weren't bible beaters, and they didn't shove religion at him, but he knew they prayed, and they believed in God. He should have faith that his memory vanished for a reason? Faith didn't make sense. You're just supposed to blindly believe that there's a method to the madness of the universe. Some higher power was watching over, and keeping the books equal? Maybe it was a human thing? Maybe his alien brain wasn't capable of faith? 

__

"Lola, do you have a faith? Did Kryptonians have a faith, a religion?" 

"Personally, no, I don't have a religion. There are beings greater than I in the universe, but I haven't met a God yet. As for Kryptonians, they had a tendency to believe in science, in what they could prove and understand. Technically you've been learning the closest thing they had to religion. The meditation we've been practicing is a spiritual approach to understanding life." 

"So, do you think I'm incapable of human faith?" 

_ "No." _Lola hesitated before finishing. Clark might take this the wrong way, but it was true._ "You had faith before: faith in humanity, faith in family, faith in justice. I don't know about God."_

_"Another bit of Clark Kent I've misplaced."_

Lola would have sighed if she had lungs. Clark shut her out before she could argue that he hadn't misplaced his faith. It was still alive in him, if he'd just trust the old emotions. 

Clark settled the apples into the bed of their truck. His parents were over at their booth talking up Pete Ross. Wasn't that just great? If dealing with his parents was awkward, dealing with Pete could be downright painful. A best friend you don't remember, and who doesn't know any of your secrets...Clark would rather spend the entire day mucking out stalls than ten minutes dealing with Pete. Was it feasible to head back into the market? Pete looked entrenched though. He might as well deal with them as a group. 

"Hey man," Pete called. "Guess what? You're sprung. Mr. and Mrs. Kent said I could steal you for the afternoon. Have I got a surprise for you, man." 

Clark felt like he hesitated for a million years, but the world just slowed down when he panicked. He got the opportunity to agonize an eternity in a matter of seconds. An afternoon with Pete, it would be so much easier if he could run away at top speed. He'd have to think of an excuse. "I don't think I should run off in the middle of everything..." 

"Go," Martha said. She and Jonathan exchanged a knowing smile and Clark felt his stomach flutter. Whatever the surprise was, everyone was in on it apparently. "We've got things covered." 

Pete jingled his keys and jerked his head towards the parking lot. Clark didn't exactly look excited but he followed. "You know, I feel really bad about how little I've been around this summer. The job at the Co Op was killer, and I figured you needed the time to get adjusted to everything anyway. Forgive me?" 

"Sure, I wasn't mad at you. I needed the time."_ I had to learn who knew what and what was taboo: speed, strength, x-ray vision. _ "I don't guess you'd tell me this surprise? I don't think I like surprises." 

"You're going to like this man, trust me." _ You should like it. _ Pete couldn't help feeling a little nervous about this afternoon. If everything hadn't changed so much, he'd be sure that Clark would like the surprise. The few times he'd come to visit, their conversations were positively stiff and distant. 

When Clark remembered, everything could go back to normal, and this event was going to help him remember. Sure it had taken hours of planning and not a little cash at the photo hut, but it was a small sacrifice to help reclaim his best buddy. "Any guesses about what's going to happen?" 

"I don't know." Clark didn't say it, but part of him hoped this had something to do with Chloe's return. Maybe it was coincidental, Pete having a surprise for him and Chloe returning to town on the same day, but it was a big coincidence. "We seem to be headed toward home, so this isn't a road trip." 

* * *

Clark let Pete lead him to his Fortress of Solitude, and he tried not to expect the worst. It's going to be something nice and easy to deal with...Chloe fresh from Metropolis. Stepping inside, Clark felt the urge to run away building in him again. The barn had been converted into some kind of freakish fun-house. There were mirrors and streamers. There were blown up pictures everywhere: Clark on tractor, Clark rides a horse, Clark with Pete and Chloe. Every possible age was represented and they seemed to progress from young to older. He couldn't think of a word to say. 

"This is your life, man. I put together a video at the end, and there's a grand finale after you finish the little tour. Impressed?" Pete's nervous grin died a quick death. Clark didn't look impressed. He looked claustrophobic and freaked. "Are you okay?" 

Clark could hear Lola buzzing at him, begging for his attention. She probably wanted to calm him down, to keep him from saying something he'd regret. "I can't take this anymore," Clark said. He walked up to one of the blown up pictures and ripped it off the wall. "I wish everyone would stop beating me over the head with who I'm supposed to be. I am who I am. You can't turn me into him." Clark ripped the picture in half and strode toward the door, consciously containing his need to speed away. 

"Man, I wasn't trying to turn you into anyone. You are Clark. I just wanted to help you remember..." Pete flinched at the look Clark leveled him with and took a step back. 

"Don't lie to me. If you could live with who I am, you wouldn't need me to change this badly. You and my parents and everyone have to stop. My parents helped you with this, didn't they?" Clark didn't wait for Pete to respond. "Who else masterminded this? I want to know." 

Pete just shook his head. "I'm sorry, okay? You're my friend, and I wanted to help." 

"You're not my friend. You don't even know me. You didn't try to know me. In three months I've seen you twice. A friend would have tried to know me." Clark knew it was time to leave when he started stumbling over his words. If he didn't leave he was going to absolutely lose it and scream or cry or something. "I'm out of here." 

It took Pete a second to gather his thoughts and follow his fleeing friend outside, but amnesia or not, Clark could still make an exit, and he was nowhere to be seen. "Man, I'm sorry!" If Clark could hear the apology, he didn't respond, and Pete reluctantly headed back inside. His grand finale had peeked around the corner, and she came around into full view. From her perfectly French twisted hair to her second-skin shimmering purple mini-dress, Lana looked the part of fantasy girl. Too bad Clark missed it. 

Lana smiled sympathetically down at Pete. He'd approached her weeks ago about his surprise, not long after Whitney left for Kansas State. She had broken things off with Fordman. Long distance relationships were hard, but honestly, it had been an excuse. She didn't love Whitney, and she couldn't see herself marrying him or making a life with him in the long run. "I guess the blind date's off." 

"I'm so sorry," Pete sighed. "I guess I screwed up here. We never even made it anywhere near the grand finale, so Clark won't hold your involvement against you."_ He will hold it against me though. _ Why hadn't Mr. and Mrs. Kent warned him that Clark was sensitive about this kind of thing? Unless they didn't know but how could they not know? 

"Since I won't be on that date, I'll help you clean up." Blind dates were always a hassle and they never turned out well. Lana was surprised to find herself less relieved than disappointed at this turn though. Clark was always the handsome mysterious guy. Then he sort of busted out of his shell in the last year before disappearing. He was playing hero, and he'd started talking to her instead of gazing soulfully from a distance. They were just becoming friends, and now they weren't anything. Lana pulled down a set of streamers and started rolling them into a ball. "This whole thing was a little over the top, but you meant well. Clark will calm down and realize that." 

"I don't know. He's right about part of what he said. I've been avoiding this place and him all summer. It was easy to say that it was my summer job or that the amnesia was making the situation uncomfortable, but part of it was me." Pete sank down on a bail of hay and stared at the wall and its sharp-looking farm implements. "I gave Clark up for dead and tried to talk Chloe out of looking for him. I told his parents they should have a memorial service for him. He was my best friend, and I let him down. This was my sorry attempt to make it up to him. If I could help jog his memory, it was something you know?" Not to mention the grand finale...Chloe would kill him if she knew he'd tried to set Clark up with Lana. He wasn't trying to be cruel or even play match maker. This little event was supposed to help recover Clark's memory, and Lana had always been his dream. 

Lana let Pete have his say, but she wasn't about to let him get away with blaming himself for everything. "That's a lot of BS, Pete. The only way you're going to let him down is letting him go now. Everyone thought Clark was dead, me included. Maybe he doesn't remember it now, but you're a good friend, no a great friend." Lana scooped her streamer ball back up and threw it at Pete. He wasn't looking, and it whacked him upside the head with a soft papery thump. She grinned playfully at him, trying to elicit some amusement. 

Pete turned her way and gradually shared her smile. "What was that for?" 

"The pity party is over. Let's get this place cleaned up, and we'll wait around to talk with Clark when he gets tired of avoiding us." 

"Okay, but I'm predicting a long wait."

* * *

Lex poured a finger of rich bourbon into a pair of crystal liquor glasses. He handed one to a man on his sofa and sipped at the other. "Mr. Fisk, how was the flight and the drive? You look well." And he did. If you compared this calm shaved individual to the half-crazed mountain-man he'd found in Colorado, the adjective 'well' didn't quite do the change justice. 

"My welfare was never a concern of yours. You got me back here with your veiled threats and your pocket book. What do you want? Your friend isn't missing. Why do you need a psychic?" 

"What I need is the truth, Mr. Fisk." 

** Author's Note: **

Happy Easter! 

I have to say this to the speculation...You are a smart girl becs... **grin** 

No new chapters next week. Finals are looming, but I'll see you all on the other side of exams. I might post something on Colorblind after a while, but I make no promises. 


	36. Chapter 4 A Fire Below

**-- Chapter 4 -- A Fire Below --**

A ball of ice untouched by a sun's light, the planet Orcus was a treasure trove of rare minerals: diamond, platinum, ferex. More than a billion aliens made their homes just beneath its frozen surface, digging complex circuits to its dead core and back again straining out those minerals. They were miners, born, bred, and shipped here from thousands of different worlds. Much like the cannon fodder used to protect the Trade Routes, these beings never made a choice to be here, but it wasn't so terrible a life as you might think. Mining was reserved for those species most capable of handling its rigors. Those aliens who didn't relish the sun on their backs or the wind in their face were chosen preferentially, and mining was safe steady work. They could even have their families with them.

When Kal-El initiated the destruction of the trade routes, he thought of these unrepresented overused people in an abstract way. He was striking out for them and their freedom. He never let himself think of a billion men, women, and children, surviving their barren home only by the grace of the weekly supply ship and its little frivolities like food, water, and air.

* * *

The air didn't taste right, stale and bitter. A pair of gray eyes snapped open, and the little girl belonging to them, Luci, crawled out of bed. Her short orange hair curled wildly around her head and the girl tugged her silky yellow gown down past her knees. "Mommy, Dad," she whispered. Stepping out into the hall, she crept past her little brother's room and stuck her head into her parent's bedroom. They weren't asleep like she'd expected. Her dad was sitting by the information screen watching a fire, and her mom wasn't even there.

"Dad, it doesn't smell right. Can we turn up the air filters?" Luci asked. "Is Mom at work again?"

Her father didn't answer her right away. He didn't even look at her for a long time. "You remember what your mother told you. We are the representatives of the government on this planet. We make sure the miners are okay and that they do what they're supposed to do. You remember when we told you that some of the miners didn't like us?" When he finally looked at her, there were tears streaming down his face. He pulled her into a hug and squeezed her tight. Then he pushed her away so he could watch her eyes and make sure she understood him. "Some bad things are happening outside. I have to go help your mother, and I'm leaving you in charge here. You lock that door behind me, and I don't want it opened again until your mother or me is out there. When I get back with your mom, we're going home, and you're going to see the sun and play outside, and we won't ever make you stay in a place like this again."

Luci looked at her dad's hand where it covered hers and nodded. There was an old tan to his skin, the mark of the sun, her mother always said. His blond hair grew darker every year, but his eyes were an unchanging gray. Luci's own skin was pale white, so translucent that her veins were visible, tracing their blue network over her fingers. She'd never seen the sun or been outside. This dead world was her birth home and the thought of leaving it was a little scary.

"Why do we have to leave?" Luci whispered. "I thought you said we didn't have to be afraid of the miners that didn't like us. You said they were more afraid of us than they were mad at us."

"Something happened to the air and the water and the food. They're all scared and they're angry with us for not taking care of them like we're supposed to." Her dad took her by the hand and walked to the door. "We'll talk about it all when I get back with your mom. Lock the door and protect your brother. Don't let anyone in."

After her dad walked away, Luci stood staring at the closed door just waiting. She might have stayed there until he returned, but their apartment was too dark. The shadows kept moving around in the shifting light from her parents' bedroom. "The information screen," Luci whispered. She could watch the information screen and try to find out more about what was happening outside. Her parent's large bedroom felt safe. Grabbing a pillow to hug, Luci made a nest in their bed. The pillow smelled like her mom, kind of flowery and she sucked in a deep breath of it.

The unchanging fire on the information screen didn't seem terribly exciting, and Luci started dialing through the various feeds looking for some people. She stopped scrolling when a mob of shouting aliens came into view. There was station after station of angry miners. Luci knew they were miners. She could tell by their bodies and their eyes. Few of them had well developed eyes, and even fewer were limited to two legs. She'd asked her mom once why the miners all looked so strange. Was that what made them miners? Her mom said they liked mining. They were built to dig in the ground and wasn't it great that everyone in the galaxy got the chance to live comfortably?

Luci paused on a new station. There were plenty of miners on this screen, but there were non-miners too. Everyone looked so scared. A woman, with long orange hair was out front and they were pushing her along. Luci touched her own hair and sat forward. The only other person on the whole planet with hair like that was her mom. What were those miners doing with her mom? Where was Dad? He said he was going to get her so they could get away.

One of the miners, a tall hairy man with narrow little mole-eyes, took her mom by the arm and turned her toward the camera recording them. She was bleeding. Unconsciously, Luci started to whimper low in her throat. Who made her mom bleed? How dare they hurt her mom? Didn't they know who she was? The image refocused a closer view of her Mom as though someone was actually manning the information feed. They should stop working the camera and go help her mom. Luci realized that her mom was talking. Even through the blood and the bindings she was holding her head high, a picture of strength and resolve. Luci increased the sound until her mother's voice filled the bedroom. "...pain. My own children are trapped here as is my lifemate. If you could just stop this, we could work together to save the children. You're burning away our air and killing those people with the skills to try and fashion alternatives to suffocation and death. Please..."

Mole-eyes must have gotten tired of listening. He wrapped his thick red fingers around her mother's throat as though it were nothing, a tiny twig. "We are neither stupid nor afraid of death. Your empty promises mean nothing. Rather than let you and your fellow rats abandon this tomb, we will end your lives here with our own hands. It is the only justice we will see." Luci didn't want to watch, but she couldn't look away. Those thick fingers contracted, and her mom didn't even struggle. Mole-eyes tossed the orange-haired beauty aside like so much refuse, and he screamed more like a blood-thirsty animal than a sentient being.

_Help her. Someone help her. _The whimpers that had taken residence inside the back of her throat graduated into full gut wrenching sobs, and Luci curled into a little ball. Without blinking, she stared at the information screen, past the rioting miners and their insurrection-dance to the corpse of a leader, her mother.

* * *

Not so very far from Orcus and its smoldering self destruction, the underground society of the galaxy continued without a hitch. The pirates and criminals hadn't had use of any trade routes to begin with. The collapse of that system registered on their radar, but it didn't leave them without the necessities. One establishment in particular, The Sixth Leg, continued its heavy trade without interruption. Every system had at least one watering hole like it. Criminals and bounty hunters, zealots and common thieves, mixed freely. A wanted man could sit and chat with any bounty hunter without fear within those walls. It went beyond honor among thieves. The owner enforced his policy of peace on the grounds with a blood thirsty glee that even the most powerful aliens respected.

When the Eradicator of worlds wandered through the old airlock of The Sixth Leg, no one even looked twice. She didn't need to hide behind a hooded cloak here. She was known and respected in this circle.

With an internal sigh, the Eradicator scanned the pack of ruffians methodically. No one even vaguely resembled her quarry. What now? The lack of direction was driving her insane. This was Kal-El's fault. He had a lot of nerve, sending her off without any command except to find her own purpose. He wasn't even keeping her up to date on his plans. It had been dumb luck that she wasn't bouncing around in a trade route when the system fell. Would Kal-El have even cared if she'd been lost? Why did she care if he cared?

_Am I a whining child now? What have I become? _

The Eradicator took a seat, showing this room only her cool empty expression. Inside that perfect mask a hundred emotions buzzed around her brain. There was anger and boredom, frustration and hurt. At least she could ignore the nuisances most of the time. She'd stopped trying to weed out her emotion bugs. They just were, and she could live with them. What choice did she have?

So here she was with a pack of useless emotions and Kal-El's non-order. Finding a mission, a quest, and a name, should have been easy, right? Well, she'd tried her hand at more than one quest at this point, had even given herself a name once or twice, but it wasn't right. She hadn't found any meaning or truth. Kal-El had sent her to learn what it meant to be alive, and that bit of data still evaded her. Maybe her new quest would do the trick?

"You, server," the Eradicator said. "I seek a woman by the name of Reo-Ra. She's a scientist who's been working at your nebula. I was informed that she frequented this...place."

The server, a short hairless creature with several dexterous spindly arms, turned from his work briefly. "Reo-Ra? Re-Re? Ya, Re-Re comes in pretty regular, usually round lunch."

"Isn't it lunch?" the Eradicator snapped.

The server paused scanning his pushy patron's face. Great, an Eradicator, that was all he needed. Why did this type always show up on his shift? "If you're looking to cause trouble..."

"I just want to talk to her," the Eradicator said. Why did everyone just assume she was here to kill or fight? Sure she was an Eradicator...maybe it was the name? A laugh bubbled past her lips, and the nervous server actually dropped a beverage. "She's here, isn't she? Where?"

"It isn't my habit to rat out my regulars, but I don't think crossing an Eradicator would be very healthy would it?" The server extended one of his gray spindly arms toward a darker corner of the restaurant. "She likes the back enclosure."

The Eradicator headed for the back of the bar, the other aliens, large, small, and in-between giving her a wide berth. The back enclosure was much like the rest of The Sixth Leg, old, battered, and filthy. Knocking at the flimsy door careful to not shatter the delicate old material, the Eradicator waited.

"Bring the food in and put it on my tab. Grant money should be here any day."

"I beg to differ. Your grant will never be coming." The Eradicator opened the paper thin door and got her first look at Reo-Ra. It was all she could do to hide her disappointment. The woman was old. Gray streaked through dull brown hair, and crow's feet were digging deep into the creases of her eyes. At least her physical form wasn't too off from the Kryptonian norm. The only outward sign that she was a hybrid, her silver eyes, shone in the dim enclosure. It was a testament to the superiority and dominance of Kryptonian genes that a diluted hybrid like this could look so normal. "Being the bearer of your bad news brings me no pleasure or pain for that matter. The Qi'er Foundation is now officially defunct. They lost it all in the trade route crisis. I don't imagine you'll be getting word from them on any official level. A war is gearing up, and the galaxy is already spiraling into the chaos that will bring."

"I take it you aren't a representative of the Qi'er then. From your look, I'd say you're either my long lost cousin, or you're the Eradicator everyone's been buzzing about." Reo hadn't really expected the Qi'er Foundation to survive the new galactic crisis, but she'd been hoping her quarterly grant would come through so she could settle accounts and maybe hop a shuttle to a tamer corner of the galaxy. If this new arrival was to be believed, she was stuck here and in serious debt with the type of aliens you don't get indebted to lightly. "Assuming you're not a cousin. I'm left wondering, what does the Eradicator want with me?"

"I am the Eradicator, and I'm here to help you. You need money and a ride out of this place. I would hazard to guess that an old scientist like yourself isn't interested in becoming embroiled in the current galactic conflict either." The Eradicator smiled and spread a thin packet of plastic credits in front of herself, enough money to buy and sell The Sixth Leg a dozen times. "I have a job proposition for you. It's out of the way, very quiet and safe. Not to mention that it pays very well."

Reo couldn't help herself. She stared at that stack of money, and she wanted to just take it. Her field of science wasn't particularly lucrative. After sixty years, a lifetime, all she had to show for her life's work was a bill large enough to get her dumped out of an airlock alive. "Do you have any more details for me on this job? If I'm going to sell my soul to a machine, I'd like to know why."

"It's slightly complicated. I have a mission to learn to understand life, my life. I've attained sentience, at least according to Kal-El of the Over Council. He sent me out into the galaxy and told me to discover a quest and a name. Then I could be his champion and serve him again." Explaining her weakness and confusion to a stranger like Reo-Ra was difficult, almost painful. If this woman was going to be a part of the quest, she deserved the whole story though.

"He cut you off without orders? The way Eradicators were designed...It has to have been Hell for you. If you're still functioning, then I suppose you would have to be sentient. How am I supposed to help you understand your life though? I'm just a run down scientist."

"You realize, Kal-El did give me a command sort of. He told me to find a quest to understand my life. I've shifted through several quests since that command. My first choice was to make Kryptonite pay for its crime. I returned to Krypton, and I was going to throw every piece of that deadly rock into the sun. It wasn't until I was walking on the planet, moving among those rocks that I realized their pain. In killing my creators, they sentenced themselves to slow, unending starvation. My destruction would release them from their pain, and I liked that they were in pain." Could Reo understand her rage against those creatures? Could she understand her choice? Maybe she could understand her most recent choice in missions? "I decided of late that a quest to perpetuate life might be better than a quest for destruction."

The cold declaration about letting an entire planet of creatures suffer into eternity was a bit telling, and Reo began to wonder if she would be allowed to decline the invitation from the Eradicator. "Dare I ask, what are you planning that involves me?"

The Eradicator smiled and nodded. "I babble on, don't I? My new quest is to perpetuate the species of my creators in the purest form possible. You hold a piece of Kryptonian genetics inside you, and there are still a few years of ovulations in you."

"Ovulations? Are you kidding?" Reo pushed her chair back and shook her head adamantly. "You want me to go make babies? If I wanted children, would I be hiding on this rock, studying the birth of suns?"

"I wouldn't ask you to raise them unless you chose to. You would just provide the eggs and the incubator..."

"Just the eggs and the incubator? I**_ am _**the incubator." Reo-Ra couldn't quite look away the pile of credits in front of the Eradicator though. "I wouldn't have to raise them? Could I continue my other work at the same time? And who else will be participating in this selective breeding project?"

"You can work all you like, and there will be several genetic hybrids in the project, along with one pure Kryptonian." The Eradicator couldn't help smiling at the thought of her Clark. He was going to hate this project, but if things were easy it wouldn't be much of a quest. "Base of operations will be on a little out of the way world called Earth."


	37. Chapter 5 Running Away

**-- Chapter 5 -- Running Away --**

Clark headed into the sunset. Literally, running away from the barn and Pete's attempt to help. He ran toward that fat red orb, half-blind from its light and just tried not to think about any of it. It took a lot of concentration to go this fast. You had to watch out for all the little obstacles. With this much momentum you really had to be thinking at least a hundred steps ahead all the time. _This is why I like to run, whatever anyone tries to tell me. I like it because I'm free. No one can see me, and I can't spare the attention to really think or hurt. _

There was a fence ahead blocking his perfect line into the sunset, and Clark came to a skidding halt. He wrapped his hands around the black wrought iron and squeezed the metal until it squirted up between his fingers like clay. There was a stab of agony though his brain like he hadn't felt since first arriving on Earth, and Clark found himself in a memory._ He watched himself squeeze though those bars and make a hesitant trek up the hill on the other side. There were keys weighing down his pocket, a truck he had to return. _

Just as suddenly as it began, the memory ended. Why did the memories always come like that, without warning, and why did they always stop so short of anything substantial? Clark squeezed through the bars and headed up the hill. It was almost like following a ghost's footsteps. Who had that Clark been visiting? Who lived inside this fenced area?

There was a house ahead beyond the tree line. Pale stone and arches like some medieval castle, the house didn't belong in rural Kansas. Even from his limited experience and memories, Clark could tell that much. His parents had kept him close all summer. They could hardly stand it if he left the farm at all, much less alone. They would most definitely not approve of his race across the countryside or an excursion to a stranger's house. At that moment, Clark couldn't care less what his parent's would or wouldn't approve of. They approved of Pete and his **_attack,_** but they didn't approve of Lola or their broken son. Well, forget their rules and smothering protection. Clark embraced his curiosity and walked right up to the front door. Without hesitating, he rang the bell.

It wasn't until the door opened and he was faced with a completely unfamiliar woman, that Clark regretted his impulsive decision. What would these people think of some stranger at their door? Or worse, what if he knew these people and they thought he'd intentionally come for a visit?

"Mr. Kent, it's been such a long time. I know Lex will be glad you stopped by. Please come in," the woman said.

Lex lived here then? That actually made sense. From what he'd been able to gather from his parents, Lex was a wealthy-powerful type. He was also supposed to be a close friend. Clark mentally snorted. As far as he was concerned, Lex was just another stranger who hadn't come around all summer. Heck, he'd seen more of Pete. "You know, I was just out wandering the countryside. Please don't bother Lex. I should get going."

"Oh no you don't. If I let you leave, I'll lose this job, and I need it. Come on in, and let me get Lex."

* * *

Stepping off her bus and back into the sticks she'd left behind, Chloe didn't even stop to sigh over the fields of corn or the obligatory cows in the distance. She was entirely too late to have a chance at stopping Pete from making things worse with Clark. If the stupid bus hadn't broken down outside Biggersville, there would have been a chance. With one final disgusted look at the run-down old bus, Chloe started locating her bags.

It was kind of weird when you thought about it, her being the one who really understood Clark and his secrets. That was sort of Pete's job, minus the knowing all his secrets. She hadn't arrived in Smallville until well after the age where most of those tight pseudo-sibling bonds were formed. In junior high, the boys had glomped-her-up to use Pete's own words. They were all close, but some bonds are like apples and oranges. They just aren't comparable. Maybe it was that one degree of separation that made this easier on her than it was on Pete or the Kents.

When she caught sight of her dad, Chloe couldn't help bursting into a grin. She hadn't seen him in three months, but he was exactly the same. His cheeks and nose were red like he'd been mowing the lawn without sunscreen again, and he was still sporting a jumpsuit from the plant. "Dad!" Chloe threw her arms around him and squeezed tight. "I missed you so much." She pointed to her nose and frowned. "You promised to wear the sunscreen."

Gabe just laughed. "That Coppertone stuff smells horrible. Now point me to your bags. Dinner is getting stone cold at home. The bus was pretty late."

Chloe loaded her dad up with three bags and shouldered her other two. Could damage control wait until tomorrow? Clark seemed pretty upset and taunt, almost like he might snap in his last e-mail. Poor Pete wouldn't know what hit him. _Don't take this the wrong way, Dad. _"About dinner, do you think it would be okay if I made a quick run over to a friend's house? It's a minor emergency."

"You're back two minutes and the emergencies are already starting. I'll give you a ride, okay?" The look on his daughter's face made him want to sigh. She was really a teenager, and she was really embarrassed by her old man. "Or you could drop me off at home and take the car."

"Have I ever told you how great you are? Thanks," Chloe said. She tossed her bags into the back seat and hugged her dad again. "I'll be fifteen minutes, tops."

* * *

Inside the expensive shell of mahogany and silks that Lex called his personal office, two men sat across from each other with sifters of liquor. The psychic, Fisk, stared into his liberal portion of expensive amber piss, and wished he could run away from this place screaming. There was a teenager in Boston just starting college, who would regret it if he ran though. It wasn't just Lex's threat either. Ivy League tuition wasn't a joke, and he hadn't been able to work in months. There was too much terror inside him. Even now that it should be fading, and he should be sleeping, blue faced demons and an agony that wasn't his own still haunted him. He couldn't reach out with a gift that had been his lifelong power and weakness rolled into one._ I have to move past this pain and that moment. I have to beat this. _What better way to get over a phobia, than face it head on? Fisk downed his drink and grimaced as it burned its way down his gut. "So when exactly do I start?"

Lex shrugged and replaced his drink untouched. "It's hard to say. You see, I've been keeping my distance from Clark and his family for the time being, letting Jonathan and Martha have their safe little cocooned off existence. The doctors I've consulted seem to think a quiet, gradual reintroduction to his life is what's best for Clark." _What bothers me about the Kents is that they aren't consulting the doctors. _"When I do visit, it wouldn't be a great idea to show up with a psychic in tow. I'd like to put you on retainer for the time being, maybe set you up at Cadmus Labs until things start to progress."

The housekeeper, Mrs. Fisher, chose that moment to knock quietly before entering. "Mr. Luthor, you have a visitor."

"I asked not to be disturbed." A nervous looking Clark Kent was just visible over Mrs. Fisher's shoulder and Lex grinned. "Never mind, you did the right thing. Come on in Clark." Instead of bombarding him with questions about his memory or the summer, Lex had to force himself to be calm and non-threatening. The doctors he'd consulted didn't agree on many things, but they'd warned him about various triggers that could cause problems in your average amnesiac._ Don't even ask about it. An amnesiac isn't going to keep his triumphs of memory recovery to himself. If you're thinking about it half the time, they're thinking about it all the time. As important as their memory is to you, it's infinitely more important to them. _"This really is a pleasant surprise."

Stepping across the threshold into Lex's office, the austere museum air had Clark remembering his meeting with Kal-El in the overtly churchlike Over Council chamber. Everything had been so confused and desperate back there. Here on Earth, everything was in order and everyone was certain about him. It made him feel a touch silly for exploding at Pete. Clark dropped a hand to Lola and opened back up to her. _I'm a complete child. Throwing tantrums and running off into the woods when someone tries to help me? What's wrong with me anyway? _

_You're just a touch frustrated, _Lola replied gently._ Anyone would be at this point._

Clark wasn't quite able to meet Lex's quizzical gaze, and he picked a spot on the wall to watch instead. "Sorry about this. I wandered here by accident. Ringing the bell was just curiosity. You were obviously in a meeting, and I won't keep you."

_Maybe subconsciously, you were looking for a friend? _"Don't be ridiculous. I'd like you to meet my associate, Mr. Fisk. He was just leaving anyway, weren't you Jon?" Lex wasn't sure whether Fisk would want to take this opportunity to touch and read Clark. It wasn't how he'd planned things to happen. He hadn't even been certain he would use Fisk. Lex smiled as Fisk came forward hand extended, but inside he could feel his heart contract painfully. This was a small betrayal, and it was only about the truth. The truth wasn't going to hurt Clark. The truth could only make things easier. It was a small thing, hardly worth agonizing over. Lex could hear his father's voice. _Lie with the smile on your face. Never let them know what you're thinking. When they're looking at the smile, they'll hardly feel the knife slipping between their ribs. _There was approval in that mental voice, and Lex almost let his smiling facade crack.

"Nice to meet you," Fisk said. He was sporting a smile as well, but his wasn't as charismatic or practiced as Lex's. _If I can touch him, I can do anything. He survived the agony of it. He came out the other side. Show me how you survived. _

Clark took Mr. Fisk's hand and wondered absently how Lex had scared this guy out of his mind. "Nice to meet you too." Fisk didn't linger over their handshake, but he seemed to calm down a bit after it. Once Fisk was gone and it was just the two of them, Clark felt acutely self conscious. He wasn't exactly prepared for this moment. His father had warned him over and over about how dangerous Luthors were and how he should be on his guard.

With Fisk's exit, Lex was able let go of his minor personal guilt trip and focus on the conversation at hand. "You look decidedly nervous there. Wait, let me guess. Your father told you not to trust me, not to talk to me, not to be alone with me. He probably told you I've been known to torture kittens and other small animals."

The way Lex casually hit on the source of his discomfort set him at ease and Clark couldn't help chuckling. _I think I know why we were friends, Lola. He's smooth. _"They didn't mention the kittens part, but I can't say that I'm surprised after all the other things they had to say. Seriously, they said we were friends and that you had helped them a lot..."_...and don't trust you even a little, of course they never backed that up with much of anything. _

"It doesn't mean much, does it, them telling you who your friends are when you can't remember it." Lex offered Clark his untouched drink. "I could tell you that this is the finest bourbon you're going to find on this continent, but you wouldn't have any appreciation for it until you tried it, and tried some of those lesser liquors as well."

_Nice sentiment, but why is it you haven't dropped by once to visit your ailing friend? _"I guess it's been a busy summer to be a multibillionaire, huh? I should probably get going before I take up any more of your time. Farm life is busy too, you know."

"Would you wait one second? I stayed away, because your parents wanted it that way. Trust me, you needed the time. Most of the doctors I consulted seemed to think the quiet route was the best path to letting you adjust to being home. Your arrival here seems to say, you're ready for more." Since Clark hadn't taken the drink, Lex tossed it back, letting the fiery liquid linger in his mouth before swallowing it down. "So, what do you expect from me? I'm still your friend from my point of view. I understand if you don't particularly agree."

"I appreciate you asking about my opinion. Everyone is an expert on my point of view these days." Clark finally looked Lex in the eye and he had a hard time believing his father's stern warnings. He seemed so sincere. "I think we could be friends again. I need all the friends I can get. Now, I really should get home. The folks are a little overprotective at the moment."

"Feel free to stop by any time." Clark disappeared through the thick office doors, and sealed Lex in with his thoughts. "And so it begins again," Lex whispered. He walked back over to the bar across the room and poured another drink. Holding it up to the door Clark exited through, he made a toast. "To Smallville and her secrets, to Clark and his missing memory, to the Eradicator wherever that psychotic bitch ended up, may she never find her way back, oh, and most importantly to Jon Fisk, may he see it all and set my mind at ease." Lex drank the liquor down without savoring the flavor. He wasn't drinking for pleasure at the moment. This was about quieting the voices inside, his father and his conscience, warring internal demons alternately praising and decrying his every decision. Hand still steady, he poured another drink.

* * *

Chloe stepped out of her car into the thick late afternoon heat and patted Pete's car on her way to the Kent barn. Clark was probably in there suffering through Pete's presentation like the good guy that he was. Her heart seemed to speed up a notch every step she took. It was just Clark. They were just friends. One hand pressed against the door, Chloe snorted at her denials. _Who am I kidding? _

The fading afternoon light cast the barn in soft reds and oranges. Chloe's eyes strayed up to Clark's lookout spot, but it wasn't her alien-farm-boy watching the sun set. Lana and Pete were chatting and laughing like old friends. A couple of garbage sacks and wads of crumpled paper were all that remained of the This-Is-Your-Life extravaganza. Where could Clark have gone already, and why was Lana here? "Hey guys, did I miss the party?"

Pete spun around and grinned down at her. "You have no idea. It's good to see you girl."

Clark had told Chloe that he could run pretty fast over e-mail, but Pete showed off his own speed, running down and enveloping her in a hug. Over his shoulder, Chloe just caught Lana's always graceful wave. The prom queen ought to have plenty of practice at waving from above. "Well, what did Clark think?" Chloe asked.

Pete backed off and exchanged an uncomfortable look with Lana. "It didn't go exactly as planned."

"Yeah, it was pretty ugly. Clark sort of stormed off," Lana said. "He didn't even get to Pete's grand finale, a blind date with the one and only me."

Chloe heard the sarcasm in the comment, but she didn't laugh or share in Lana's friendly grin. "Wow Pete," Chloe said. "When you were e-mailing me about this little production, you never mentioned the grand finale. It must have slipped your mind."

The formerly warm friendly smile on Chloe's face shifted to a cooler more cynical place, and Pete winced visibly. "Don't be mad, Chloe..."

"I'm not mad. Why would I be mad?" _I just thought you were my friend, that's all. To think I could be having dinner with my dad, who I haven't seen in three months, but instead I come here to try and help you, buddy. _Chloe held in her angry words and just let Pete think whatever he wanted. If Clark never spoke to him again, it would serve the Benedict Arnold right. He knew how she felt for God's sake. "I just wanted to say hi to everybody. So looks like clean-up went well. What exactly are you two waiting around for?"

_Uh oh, _Pete groaned to himself. That tone spelled trouble. Chloe hadn't used that voice with him since the eighth grade when he borrowed her computer to check his e-mail and accidentally deleted her application for editor of the Torch. "We're waiting for Clark. I wanted to apologize for messing this all up." If Lana wasn't standing over his shoulder, Pete would have gladly thrown himself on Chloe's mercy, but further exacerbating his crimes by exposing her feelings for Clark to the number one rival wasn't going to help him.

"I was staying for moral support," Lana said. She hadn't missed the silent storm that had sprung up between Chloe and Pete. A third wheel was obviously inhibiting their ability to vent, and venting was the best way to handle little blowups. "Heading home would probably be the thing to do right now. You guys should do some catching up. Thanks for an interesting evening, Pete."

"I'd say let's do it again some time, but let's not," Pete said. _Thank God Lana has enough sense to flee a boiling Chloe._

Waiting until Lana was out the door, Chloe abandoned her smile altogether. "I don't think we really have much to say to each other. My dad's waiting for me with ever colder tacos, so I'll see you at school next week. Don't bother with the ride you offered. I'd rather take the bus."

"Chloe, I didn't tell you about the finale, because I didn't want to hurt you. This stupid thing was about making Clark remember something, and what did the Clark we know and love obsess about consistently? I thought a date with Lana might wake something up in him, you know? He's so mad at me Chloe, and I don't think I can take it if you're mad at me too. I'm sorry."

"You're just going to have to deal with it. I'm not happy, Pete. You and I are friends. You are the only person in the world that knows how I feel about Clark. I just don't know what you were thinking. Were you thinking?" Chloe felt some of the anger in her cooling in the face of Pete's deflated, sad expression. He wasn't trying to hurt anyone. He just wanted to help Clark. Why did all her friends have to be so noble all the time? It was impossible to stay mad at anyone. "You're really having a bad day, aren't you? Tell you what, I'll make a deal. You refrain from fixing Clark up with anyone, except maybe me, and I'll forget...forgive the almost hook-up you tried today. Deal?"

"I thought I was going to brave sophomore year solo there for a second." Pete took a seat on one of the flat pieces of farm equipment and sighed. "I wanted to pull a Clark Kent and save the day, but all I ever do is screw it up."

Chloe joined Pete on his dusty seat and casually bumped his shoulder with her own, all her anger forgotten for the moment. "When did you start trying to do that anyway, save the day I mean? Don't think I didn't notice. You did it for Clark, right? I sort of knew you were doing it for him. I guess I'm trying to say, you don't have to try to be Clark anymore. You're better at being Pete."


	38. Chapter 6 Havok

**-- Chapter 6 -- Havok --**

An amphitheatre built to accommodate every variety of alien, the Under Council's meeting room had changed over the last weeks. No longer was the government building filled to overflowing. The Vorians were gone and with their ousting a large chunk of the other Under Council races were missing in protest or downright anarchy. If the government couldn't protect them or their constituents, why were they members? The empty seats weren't quite as many as Kal-El might have hoped, but they were a good start. With a somewhat satisfied sigh, he abandoned his voyeuristic glimpse into the physical branch of government and returned to his center to view his strategy from a more distant perspective.

His model of the galaxy seemed dimmer and redder than it should ever have been. The clear blue strips of trade routes were simply gone, and so many of the worlds were registering red. Red designated highest priority crisis. Most of those worlds were simply non-self-sufficient. They didn't have the food to feed everyone, or the authority to enforce their government without the threat of the galactic military. Some of those worlds didn't even have an atmosphere capable of sustaining life without supplementation. Those red worlds signified suffocation, stagnation, rebellion, and death. Even more heartening was the preponderance of yellow. If there was a lot of red, the yellow dominated the model. Yellow worlds were surviving, but not well or efficiently. The yellow worlds were teetering on the edge, ripe to rebel.

And the lonely blue? You had to really search for blue worlds. A galaxy in crisis will not sport many peaceful, unthreatened places. Most of those worlds were isolated biospheres, uninitiated into galactic society for one reason or another. Unaware of the turmoil boiling up in the heavens, those worlds shone on obliviously, only their ignorance allowing them to flourish.

"Strangely beautiful, isn't it?"

Kal-El nodded to his now familiar visitor, the original Over Council ascendant. Kal-El just thought of her as the glow-worm. Her physical form was nothing short of caterpillar-like, and the tip segment of her body tended to glow when she was excited. He'd checked his knowledge base, and the glowing tail was just another way her people communicated amongst themselves. He wasn't expected to understand it or respond. It only really happened when she forgot herself. "It looks like change is finally alive in this stagnant pond, Evy. It's good to see you," Kal-El purred. Everyone living referred to this particular ghost as the eldest ascendant, as though she'd lost all name and identity outside of that designation. She did have a name and an identity, and it had little to do with wisdom or objectivity.

"The semblance of restraint will soon vanish, and we'll start to see real fighting," Evy said. She scurried around the display, grunting and sighing. "Do you have anything else planned or are you going to let this take its own course now? Things have begun to snowball, you know."

"I'm not ready to let this take its course yet, but for the next phase of operations, I need muscle I can trust." Kal-El encouraged his guest to join him at the Librarian's checkout desk. Instead of an ink stamp and pencil, the desk contained his doorway to the world. A simple holographic screen came to life with the cool expressionless face of the Eradicator. "There's a 400 microsecond lag on this. What black hole of a sector are you in?"

The Eradicator's studied cool expression fell away. Sticking her chin out, she narrowed her eyes in a good imitation of a glare. "Sector Zeta Aught Four."

Kal-El grinned and his eyebrows shot up. Either the Eradicator was acting, or she was starting to embrace her burgeoning emotions. "Are you angry? I believe you're near to losing it, pet."

Was she angry? There was a hard bundle of pain in her processor, a jumble of shame and fear and anger, knotted so tightly together that she couldn't distinguish the individual parts. In her more confusing moments, when her emotions flared like this, she forgot herself and her role just a little. She forgot to attempt to treat everything with logic. Like a ship coming out of the fog, the Eradicator managed to wrestle her emotions back and respond with the cool professional tone she should never have lost. "I am not angry, though I must chastise you. You very nearly caused my destruction when the Trade Routes were destroyed. There would be no one left to aid you should I cease to function."

"I almost caused your destruction? Well, I had no idea when the plant would take down the system, so I couldn't very well have warned you. Could I?" Kal-El wished he could actually see what was buzzing inside the pretty head of that machine. He'd entered that mind once and left his mark. To see if it had grown and changed would have been...educational.

"I suppose not. How may I be of service?" The Eradicator asked the question with a different question dancing unasked in her neural net. _Weren't you worried? Are you checking on me? _

"I do need you, and as you seem to be making some progress with embracing life – I loved the show of temper there – temporarily disturbing your current mission shouldn't be a big deal. Follow the coordinates I'm sending, and proceed back to Azar post haste. You're transportation has been arranged. The Thelosians assured me that you could use the translocator freely." Kal-El would have ended the transmission without another word but the Eradicator shook her head at him. No? The Eradicator was saying no to him? "What was that?"

"There will be a delay. I'm involved deeply in a mission, but I will accelerate things as much as possible. With a bit of luck I can be at your coordinates in forty-eight hours," The Eradicator said. "No sooner, possibly later."

Trying not to look too shocked, Kal-El nodded. "Acceptable, come quickly as you can." The communication link was severed, but he kept staring at the blank screen. "Can you believe she's an Eradicator?"

The eldest ascendant snorted and glowed some indecipherable response at him. "Eradicator's go a little batty the longer they linger. That one should have been shut down a few centuries ago judging by your interchange. Stability has been lost."

"Stability is boring. I like what she's becoming."

* * *

Off in a field of corn, isolated from everyone and everything, Clark Kent sat and watched his home. The thick army of stalks protected him from the prying eyes of the world, but for him they melted back and made a safe one-way window. His parents were just arriving home from the Farmer's Market, slowly unloading their leftover produce. He should go help them. The job would take him fifteen seconds even if he took his time.

_"You aren't going to help them though, are you? You're going to sit out here on the cold dirt and sulk a while longer," _Lola said.

"I'm not sulking anymore. I'm thinking and watching. From a distance they look so happy," Clark said. "I wish they looked like that up close, and...I wish Pete would leave already." Pete, sort-of-best-friend-extraordinaire, strolled out of the barn and helped his parents with their unloading. "He's probably telling them about my meltdown."

_"And you just hate the thought of them standing around talking about you and worrying about you. This song is getting old, Clark." _

"If you think I'm going to stroll down there and apologize and start a group hug, you're kidding yourself. After Pete bails, I will go down there and I don't know..."

Pete settled the last bushel of cucumbers onto the porch and turned to face the Kents. He'd been sidestepping their questions about his little surprise for that last couple of minutes, and now there was nothing left to distract them. There wasn't any point in postponing the inevitable. It was getting late, and their son was MIA. "Okay first off, Clark didn't go on the surprise blind date. We barely got through the front door, and he got mad and stormed off."

"He got mad?" Martha asked. "Why would he get mad? It was just a little game, a friendly surprise." She could feel herself smiling quizzically, but was she really surprised? Something had been building up in Clark, buzzing around beneath the surface, and she'd been waiting for the explosion, hadn't she?

"He was really annoyed," Pete said. "When he comes home, have him call me all right? I want to apologize for ambushing him, and that's his word for it, not mine. He assumed you guys were in on everything, and I didn't lie to him. He's probably a little upset with you too."

Jonathan shook his head and threw his hands up in mock surrender. "That's just great, Pete. Why don't you head on home, and we'll give you a call later." It was all Jonathan could do to hold his tongue until Pete was in his car and driving away. "I don't get this, Martha. What did we do wrong here? I'm so..."

"Frustrated? Confused?" Martha took her favorite seat on the porch steps and smiled at Jonathan. "I bet Clark comes home good and mad. It would tickle me to death to see him just lose it with us and start a huge fight."

"What?" Jonathan asked. "You want to fight?"

"Wouldn't it be better than the polite pseudo-silent dance we've been doing all summer? I hope he's so steamed that he can't stand it." Martha waved Jonathan over and pulled him down beside her. "I hope he yells so loud that he wakes the neighbors."

"It's three miles to Nell's place. That would be some impressive yelling," Jonathan said. Maybe Martha was right? A good fight might be good for them. "I've never been guilty of looking forward to a fight, but when you're right, you're right."

From the corn, Clark watched his parents settle in on the porch steps. "I'm going to talk to them. I'm going to tell them what I feel. What do you think?"

_"It sounds suspiciously like the advice I've been giving you for two months, and I think it's about time you listened to me. I have several hundred years' life experience to my credit." _

"Know-it-all," Clark quipped. The short run to the back yard didn't exactly give Clark a chance to organize his thoughts, but an hour sitting in the corn hadn't helped either so why dawdle. His parents didn't exactly look surprised to see him, but they did look a touch wary. _"Pete told them how I acted."_

_"It isn't like you weren't expecting it. Next time, you can act like an adult and then there won't be anything to tell,"_ Lola said.

_"Stop being so smug or I'll stop listening to you altogether." _Abandoning his conversation with Lola, Clark couldn't seem to find the words to begin with his parents. They weren't saying anything either. Why were they waiting for him to start? He almost resorted back to Lola. She'd just tell him to stop acting like an infant and open his mouth though. "We need to talk about things. I'm not going to lose my temper like I did earlier, or at least I'll try not to."

Martha nodded and shared a hopeful look with Jonathan. It wasn't exactly a hot screaming fight, but if they were really going to talk, this might be good. "I have tea in the kitchen?"

"Let me just say this." Sucking in a deep breath, Clark let months of frustration take the rein of his mouth. "I am Clark Kent. Maybe my memory isn't so hot right now, and I don't really know what that used to mean. You both have this notion of who your son was and who I need to be. Well, it doesn't matter who you think I am. Telling me who to be is just driving me crazy. Can you understand that?"

"We're driving you crazy?" Jonathan had never been a man to hold in his own frustration and he'd been holding this in for as long as Clark had. "You hardly talk to us. You treat us like strangers. It's like you don't even want to know us or about your life here. We're burdening you with our memories?"

"I want to remember," Clark snapped. "How can you think I wouldn't want to remember? Your memories aren't a burden. Your expectations are...I'm sorry about not talking to you and holding you at arms length, but you are strangers. Aside from some disjointed hallucinations, I don't have any memory of you at all."

"You want us to bury the Clark we remember and let you be," Martha whispered. "I don't know if I can just give up on my son, because he's in you, and if we could just coax him out it would be like it was..."

Clark shook his head, stepping away from his parents. "I know what you lost. You lost your son, a boy you raised from infancy. If you can't find anything of him in me, I can leave, but I can't keep acting the part you want me to play."

"We don't want you to leave. We want things to change!" Jonathan barked. "It's that damn rock. She puts these things in your head. That thing doesn't want you to remember your life because you wouldn't need her anymore."

"Attack Lola. It makes things easier if you can blame her, doesn't it?" Clark could feel tense anger coursing in him tightening his muscles and making it harder to stay clear and cool. Lola was his friend, his center, and it was time these people understood that. "Your best friend is that rock. She pleads your case with me, begs me just talk to you, tells me that this is my home, and that I need to find my place here. If you'd just talk to them, she says. Well, we've talked and I don't see that it helped."

Martha nodded to herself, and let go just a little. She wasn't going to stop looking for the boy she raised in this Clark, but she could stop pushing so hard. "It helped...me."

As though he hadn't heard his wife's statement, Jonathan responded angrily. "That rock has you brainwashed. She's whispering in your ear twenty-four seven. You can't know your own mind when that thing is in it."

"Lola isn't a thing," Clark said. "I'm not human either. Am I a thing? Just because I have a face you see me as a person. Lola is a person too, a good person." Clark could feel the heat, anger, pumping through the veins in his face.

"Stop it!" Lola burst through Clark's pocket and vibrated the declaration aloud. First she zoomed toward Jonathan. "You are a family. Clark needs you, and you need Clark. He isn't some stranger who fell out of the sky. He is your son." She turned back to Clark, hovering just under his nose. "And you...you are acting like a child again. I don't need you to defend me, and I will not come between you and your parents. I would like to be put away. If you consider me a real person, you will respect my wishes. Find a sunny spot and leave me there until things are better." Without another word she dropped to the ground and the shimmering light inside her died down to a faint glimmer.

"Lola..." Clark dropped down to his knees. All his anger was gone replaced by fear. She couldn't just shut him out. He needed her. "She won't talk to me. Are you happy now? I'm alone now."

Martha saw the tears streaking down Clark's face and she tried to find words to make this better. He was gone though, like a ghost in the wind he vanished into the corn. Walking forward, Martha scooped Lola off the ground and turned to Jonathan. "Things are going to have to change around here, starting with us." Looking down at the rock in her hand Martha made a decision to try and understand. "If you can hear me, Lola, I'd like to talk."

* * *

Jason Fisk made himself comfortable in the room Lex had given him for the night. The place was uncomfortably large and decorated in shades of blue. It gave the impression of being under water, maybe in the Mediterranean. With a sigh he fell backwards onto the king-sized bed and stared at his ceiling. Tomorrow would bring Cadmus Labs and waiting, but tonight had brought healing. His fear finally died when he shook hands with the young man, Clark. A ghost of pain had haunted him for months, but this kid had felt that pain first hand. He felt it, survived it, and he didn't even seem damaged. The hand shake had taken every bit of courage he had, but with the touch he understood that whatever the pain was, it was over. The job for Lex wasn't going to drive him insane.

His undeniable relief was followed up quickly with curiosity, and before Clark could end the handshake, Fisk tried to explore. He could almost visualize the scars running through the kid's mind, but there wasn't any hurt left. The scars were old and dead, walling off bits of viable mind, sealing away bits of memory and knowledge. And there was something else, a snowflake, a crystal, a hint of blue. It hovered at the periphery, neither part of Clark's mind nor separate from it. Jason would have loved to hold on and explore more deeply, but the handshake ended and he had to walk away.

"This is not ethical. It isn't how I do business. My little girl would be very disappointed." Relaxing onto the soft bed despite himself, Fisk yawned and pulled one of the pillows down under his head. What choice did he really have in all this? Lex Luthor's threats weren't something he could afford to ignore.


	39. Chapter 7 Comfort

**-- Chapter 7 -- Comfort -- **

Reo-Ra leaned back in her chair and watched her new employer, the Eradicator, piloting her ship. She didn't look like a machine much less a weapon. Reo tried not be too envious of the perfect eternal body thing. She'd never been the pretty type and it hadn't bothered her in years. Shifting her attentions to the decor, Reo spun slowly in her seat. The ship was classy, clean lines and spacious too. It was far cry from the rat-holes her career had landed her in. Running a hand along her chubby stomach, Reo couldn't fight off a chill. At least her other jobs had been about her mind and skills, not the use of her body. Feigning indifference to her situation, Reo addressed her employer. "How much longer do we have to wander around like this? I thought we had a destination. When do I meet the sperm donor?"

"I have a couple of stops to make first. Some potential coworkers of yours in this system are in imminent danger. I had a proxy-bot watching them and according to his readings I've already lost one of the potentials and the other two are on the brink," the Eradicator said. One of the walls projected an image of a plain frozen blue world. "It's called Orcus, a mining world that didn't get it's shipment of air on schedule. Under a few tons of ice and death there's a bubble of air, and that's where we're heading."

"What are you going to offer them to get them onboard with your plan?" Reo asked.

"I'll offer them their lives and money and a future, much like I did for you," the Eradicator said. "Of course they are still pre-pubescent. It will be a few years before they're of breeding significance."

"They're children? I told you that I don't take care of children," Reo said. She stared at the frozen world like it held a plague. "Children make me nervous."

"Don't worry, Reo-Ra. I'll take care of them," the Eradicator said.

* * *

A little boy stood in the middle of polished and shining living quarters. His dull orange hair hung into his brown eyes and his bottom lip was protruding nearly to his nose. His sister was sitting cross-legged and ignoring him. She was counting their food again as if the food mattered when they could hardly even breathe. Luci was only two years older, and she didn't know everything. "The air tastes really bad, Luci, and I want go out. I bet the air's better outside in the hall. So open the door!"

Tucking her more brassy orange hair behind her ears, Luci continued counting without even looking at her brother. "We have to wait here for, Dad. He told us to wait and not to open that door for anyone. You understand?" Three dehydrated meals, one bag of ground carbohydrate...there just wasn't enough food or water. Their only drink was some fermented something her parents kept over their bed. After watching the people who killed her mom suffocating on their information screen, Luci hadn't been able to make herself move for a long time, and when she did, it was too late to fill anything with water. The water was gone, and the air was bad, and her brother was awake. Little Ford was scared and mad, but at least he didn't know. He hadn't seen. "Dad put me in charge so shut up about outside."

"I don't care what Dad said," Ford shouted. The air smelled so bad: burnt and rotten. How was he supposed to breathe? Ford stormed across their living room and started mashing the key-code to the door. "We have to get some air."

Luci came to her feet and jump-tackled her brother before he could let out what was left of their air. "You little idiot, don't you know it's worse out there. There isn't any air anywhere."

"If there isn't any air anywhere, what are Mom and Dad breathing? They're out there." Ford struggled loose from his sister enough to half sit up and glared at her. "I'm ten, not a baby. What happened?"

Her mother's execution flashed through Luci's mind, but she didn't try to tell Ford that. He didn't need to know everything. "They didn't bring the air like they were supposed to and we ran out. Everybody got really upset about it and had a big fight until all the air out there was gone. We have a little air here, and I'm sure there's more air in other places. Dad is probably stuck somewhere, and he'll get to us as soon as he can." The lie came easily, and Luci refused to feel bad about hiding the truth from her brother. He was just a kid and he didn't need to know that his mom and dad were dead, one executed and the other suffocated. _I can protect him. _

"Are you sure? Mom and Dad are coming for us?" Ford stopped struggling and let Luci hold him. "Are you lying to me? I'm not a baby."

"I know it. You aren't a baby," Luci whispered. "We're practically the same age."

Ford didn't push her to answer the question she'd stepped around. He didn't want her to be lying. Gulping down a lungful of the thick air, Ford didn't fight his tears. No one ever told this little boy that it was shameful to cry.

* * *

A tiny swelling of redness marred an otherwise perfectly smooth creamy jaw. Chloe stared at the offending pre-pimple in her mirror and tried to decide which magic cream would best fight the potential disaster. "I will not start sophomore year with an outbreak. I will destroy you with astringent and Neutrogena soap and sulfa cream." Chloe attacked her face, scrubbing it red three times. The swelling was still there, but hopefully it wouldn't make it through the night.

Making her way back downstairs, the doorbell rang over the clatter of her dad washing the dishes. He had insisted on taking them on by himself. It was her welcome home dinner, and the guest of honor was not washing dishes. "Could you get that, Chloe? It should be Max from the plant with some time sheets. Invite him in," Gabe called.

"Got it Dad. Want me to finish the dishes? If you need to work..." Chloe's polite smile turned into a shocked stare. That wasn't Max from the plant. It wasn't anyone from the plant. Clark Kent was on her doorstep. She'd forgotten this feeling, light headed and breathless. After the first shock passed, Chloe realized that the 180 pounds of farm-alien in her doorway didn't look exactly at ease. His clear blue eyes were shadowed, and his shoulders slumped ever so slightly. How could anyone that tall and heart-achingly-beautiful look so insecure and pitiful? "Dad, it isn't Max. I'm going for a drive, okay?"

Chloe pushed Clark out the door before her dad could ask who had dropped by after ten at night. "Sorry for rushing you out like that, but my dad can be a little over-protective when it comes to late-night-jaunts with boys. You know?"

"Sorry...welcome home," Clark said. Chloe hadn't changed at all, well except for her hair. Still choppy and very blond, the cut was more stylized, probably really fashionable. She smiled the same though. When she smiled, her entire heart glowed through the expression. Clark felt a blush rising on his faced, and he could feel a mirror of Chloe's smile tugging at his lips. "I needed that, a friendly face."

Craning her neck trying to spot the Kent truck, Chloe arched an eyebrow at Clark. "You came all the way out here on foot just to get a look at my face? What happened?"

It was tempting to dump everything on Chloe right there. She was his friend, his sympathetic ear, but he didn't want to talk about his parents or Pete or even Lola. In that moment Clark just wanted her to keep smiling at him like that. "You know. I don't even want to talk about it right now. It's your first day home. Let's talk about Metropolis or school or whatever."

Chloe's grin turned mischievous, and she pulled her set of car keys out of her pocket. _I know what happened with Pete today, but you want to keep this light and fluffy? I can handle light and fluffy. _"I think we covered Metropolis over e-mail, and school doesn't start until Monday. Let's just drive and talk about...aliens."

* * *

Two scared parents sat together across from a silent blue rock. It had been all Martha could manage to get Jonathan to give the conversation a chance. Now she just had to make this work, start a conversation and pull her family back together. "Lola, we'd like to talk with you, clear the air between us. Until today, we thought you were only able to communicate with Clark, or we'd have tried this sooner. Do you understand us?"

Lola would have sighed if she were a creature who respired. Why hadn't Clark put her away like she'd asked? It was one thing to encourage him to communicate with his parents and reaffirm his family ties. It was quite another thing to be pulled into the middle of things and forced to expend her energy in audible conversations. "I understand you," Lola vibrated. "Audible communication is a drain on my resources, and I avoid it whenever possible."

Jonathan bit down hard on his lip at the sound of Lola's tinkling crisp voice. It was almost like hearing a bell speak. Whatever Clark said about Lola trying to help them, Jonathan wasn't buying it. The rock was manipulating everyone, and Martha's attempt at communication was just playing into that manipulation. "What are you? What do you want from Clark? Why won't you let him remember?"

Martha kicked at Jonathan and shook her head. "This isn't a confrontation. It's a conversation."

With heavy resignation Lola answered Jonathan's heated accusations. "I'm a living being, your son's friend, and I've tried to help him to remember and heal. You get angry because you're afraid and you don't understand."

"Can you help us understand? What is the relationship between Clark and you? You call it friendship, but it's different," Martha said. "It's private and continuous. It isn't friendship the way we think of it. There's a degree of intimacy...I don't understand."

_Do you really want to understand then? _Lola had her doubts about Jonathan, but Martha seemed willing to listen. "It's simple really. The intimacy between us is a song. Clark can hear my true voice, and I can see his. If you were a painter, an artist, and the universe were filled with blind beings that could never see or understand your expression, would you be friends with the one being who could see? I spent years alone, singing into the void without anyone to listen. Clark can hear me, and he thinks my song is beautiful."

* * *

In the Torch's freshly-waxed pre-fall-semester-clean newsroom, Clark stood at the chalkboard drawing a diagram. Sitting back and enjoying the view, Chloe tried to wrap her mind around the reality of the alien in front of her. It was the story of a lifetime, a story she couldn't write, but at least she could know. A different Clark Kent might have been afraid to share his secrets and identity with an aspiring journalist like Chloe. A different Clark would have had years of training in the value of his secrets and the danger of knowledge. It was probably the meanest, most horrible sentiment she'd ever indulged in, but Chloe liked this Clark better. So many of the things he lost with his memory were the things that kept them apart.

"Okay." Clark stepped away from the board and pointed to the full length stick-man he'd created. To the diagram's right a list labeled indeterminate held two categories, speed and strength. The left side had a list labeled determinate with a wider more interesting variety of items: x-ray vision, heat vision, ice breath, flight. Clark smiled a little self-consciously and tried not to be too nervous, but Chloe was watching him with a rapt amused expression, and he couldn't help wanting to impress her. Over their months of correspondence, she'd shown an endless fascination with what he was as well as who he was, and sharing his secrets with her felt right. "Alien physiology 101. This is your friend the Kryptonian. Just like a human, he's an organic life-form. Unlike a human, he stores energy from the sun inside his cells' crystalline-battery-things. That energy fuels his strength and speed and certain abilities." Clark paused and waited to see how Chloe would reply to that.

Better than science fiction, Chloe stared at the lists and the real life alien they applied to with no small amount of awe. I'm friends with an alien, a real alien, an alien who trusts me. There was a heady exhilaration to being the confidant, the important friend. Rising with a smirk, Chloe joined Clark by his diagram. "A little vague there, but let's see what I learned from your e-mails. You've been fast and strong your whole life. You just keep getting stronger and faster as your batteries get more charged." When Clark nodded she kept going. "Our first order of business should be to quantify those a little. I mean are we talking, your average linebacker strong, Arnold Schwarzenegger strong or maybe King Kong strong? Fast could be anywhere from the minute-mile to warp-speed. Enlighten me."

"I never really tried to quantify any of it. I guess the biggest thing I remember picking up was the truck, long story-I'll tell you later. As for speed, I can get from my house to yours in less than thirty seconds." At first Chloe didn't say anything, and Clark knew a moment's fear. What if that was too much truth for her? What if he'd scared her? God, why did Lola abandon him when he needed her input?

"Wow, so that's closer to King Kong than linebacker and way closer to warp speed than minute-mile." Chloe couldn't tear her eyes off Clark, beautiful, sweet, fascinating, alien-and-all. _I could kiss him. I could touch him and stop waiting. He doesn't even remember Lana. _The old fears and insecurities were still there though. Part of her just knew that Clark was going to remember everything, and forget about her. It was better not to build too much on a relationship that wasn't ever really going to happen. "The most important question next, what about the x-ray vision thing? Can you see my underwear or my femur?"

The moment she asked, Clark couldn't help looking, and he could feel his cheeks turning the color of the underwear in question. "Sorry, I know that wasn't exactly an invitation. They're red, and I could check out your femur too if you want."

Without thinking about it, Chloe crossed her arms over her chest protectively. "Hey, that wasn't an invitation." A minor invasion of privacy couldn't keep her excitement in check though. "How cool is that? What about these other abilities? How do they work?"

"Actually, they don't work yet. I haven't stored enough energy to turn them on. My DNA is kind of hanging out and waiting, you know?"

"No not completely, but I'm beginning to..."

* * *

Jonathan could hear Martha clinking dishes in the kitchen, warming up a quick dinner. With a steady hand he lifted Lola and stared through her transparent blue facets. "I don't believe you, Lola. Maybe Martha does, but you're just manipulating her, and you're feeding on Clark. You're a parasite, and I know how to deal with you." While he was still alone, Jonathan dropped the blue rock into their lead box.

"Jonathan, dinner is ready," Martha called.

Snapping the lid securely shut, Jonathan headed for the door outside. "I'll be just a minute. There's something I have to take care of."


	40. Chapter 8 A Semblance of the Truth

**-- Chapter 8 -- A Semblance of the Truth --**

"Your dad told you to move the truck, and?" Chloe took her eyes off the road for a second to find out why Clark had stopped telling his why-I-picked-up-the-truck story. His face had gone pale and he was breathing shallowly. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

"I can't feel her. Chloe, she's gone," Clark whispered. "Pull over. I have to find her." Since his fight with his parents, Lola had withdrawn. She hadn't spoken or responded to him, but she was there, a quiet blue presence. Now she wasn't anything or anywhere. "I said pull over," Clark snapped.

"Who's gone? What happened?" Chloe pulled over and laid a hand on Clark shoulder before he could bail out. "What?"

"Lola, my friend, the piece of Kryptonium who's been helping me..." Clark waved his hands as though he couldn't find the words. "...she was a light. I could feel her all the time, but something snuffed her out."

With a rush of breeze that pulled her hair into her face, Clark was gone. Chloe stared at the empty seat where her suddenly distraught friend had been and shook her head in disbelief. Where? Chloe twisted so she could see the trail of dust Clark had left in passing. The discussion they'd had about speed had been amusing and unreal, but her friend had just run away faster than she could even see. The door swung shut with a click, but Chloe couldn't look away from the road. It was unexpected and inhuman and...frightening. No, it wasn't frightening. It was just...Clark wasn't standing by her side, smiling, and drawing cute diagrams. He just_ was _everything he said, and maybe she hadn't come to complete terms with what that meant.

* * *

Jonathan settled the lead box containing Lola into the bed of his truck and covered it with an old saddle blanket. With perfect clarity of purpose, Jonathan pulled the door to cab open. "Next stop, Miller's Creek."

He never saw Clark coming.

Something grabbed Jonathan's shirt-back and lifted him into the air. It was an odd feeling, his shirt digging into his neck, cutting off his breath. In a single motion, whatever had grabbed him turned him and now had him from the front. "Jesus," Jonathan gasped. It was Clark, not the quiet polite stranger they'd dealt with all summer. Martha said she wanted Clark to exploded, well here it was.

Clark was careful when he lifted Jonathan from the ground. He had to keep telling himself that humans were delicate, breakable. He was just so angry. "What did you do to Lola? If I thought you could hurt her, I never would have abandoned her. Why would you hurt her?"

"Calm down," Jonathan gasped. "You're not thinking clearly, son. No one hurt anyone."

"Don't call me son," Clark said. "I'm hardly your son, not the one you want. You're afraid of me, aren't you? Be afraid, and tell me what you did to her."

Shaking his head stubbornly, Jonathan wished that he weren't at such a physical disadvantage here. Clark was trying to be hurtful and intimidating, but he just looked scared. Setting boundaries meant standing up to teenagers, but how was he supposed to assert any authority over his child who could punt him to Metropolis? "I didn't hurt her. I swear to you."

Only a few steps away, Martha witnessed a sight she never dreamed she would see. Her son had her husband suspended in the air like it was nothing. The lack of effort wasn't shocking, but the act was almost horrifying. Without thinking, Martha let instinct carry her off the porch and to the confrontation playing between father and son. "Clark Kent, put your father down, now!" It was the same shrill maternal scold she used whenever Clark had stepped out of line growing up. When he didn't respond immediately, she kept going. "Did you hear me? I said, put your father down."

Clark wasn't sure why his mother's words made him feel ashamed, but he had to fight to hold onto his righteous anger on Lola's behalf. Yes, it was wrong to be shaking his father around like a rag doll, but his father started it. He hurt Lola. Hadn't he? "I'm not putting him down until he tells me what he did to Lola. She's gone."

Martha caught Jonathan's eye, but she couldn't read him. Had he done something to Lola? She'd left them together in the kitchen. No. He would have consulted her first. He wouldn't make a decision like that for the both of them. Continuing in a more soothing tone, Martha did her best to diffuse the situation. "Clark, didn't Lola say she was going to leave you alone for a while? She was planning to remove herself as a tension between you and your life here. Think about this. Your father and I wouldn't even know how to hurt your friend if we wanted to." Martha saw Clark's posture change after her assurances had a chance to sink in. His shoulders drooped and he lowered Jonathan to the ground.

_Lola just left me? Oh...right. _Clark's righteous anger died and he had to face the truth, Lola abandoned him. It was humbling and painful. Clark hadn't believed Lola would ever leave him so completely alone. He thought she needed him a little too. He thought they were a team. Clark couldn't meet his father's eyes. "I'm sorry," he managed to whisper. "I just didn't know she was going to cut me off so completely. It scared me."_ She didn't even say goodbye._

"It's okay, son," Jonathan said. He rubbed at his throat where his shirt had been choking him. With Lola gone, things could get back to normal. Clark would forget about that manipulative rock soon enough.

"No it isn't okay," Martha said. "Jerking your father around like that isn't exactly acceptable-son-behavior. I can understand that you haven't felt very much like our son this summer, and that's partly our fault. Well I'm through coddling you and treating you like glass. Go to your room. You're father and I will decide an appropriate punishment for this outburst." It was a battle to keep her expression stern, but Martha managed it until her baby made his silent walk to the house.

"What was that?" Jonathan said. His voice was a little rough, and his hand kept straying to the red wheal rising on his throat. "You were kind of hard on him."

"No I wasn't. I was exactly as stern as he deserved. He knows better than to man-handle you, or anyone. If he forgot, he has to remember," Martha said. Tears choked her voice off for a second, but she continued more firmly. Pity and grief wasn't going to help anyone. "We have to start acting like his parents again, if we want him to be our son."

"Maybe you're right." Jonathan let down the tailgate of the truck with a squeak and a bang. He gestured to Martha as though he'd just pulled out a chair in a gentlemanly fashion. She slid onto the seat with Jonathan and let him hold her close.

"Maybe I'm right?" Martha smiled tiredly up at the sky. She replayed the entire confrontation between Jonathan and Clark in her head. "The only way I could imagine that was too stern would be if you did kill Lola. You didn't do anything to his rock, did you?"

"I did not kill his rock," Jonathan answered. He hardly felt a twinge of conscience at the omission of his actual actions. The damn rock was fine, and safely out of his son's head. "How do you kill a rock?"

"If you're us, you don't. I know you think Lola has been messing with Clark's head. Maybe she has, but he thinks that she's his friend, and I don't think we can argue with that. I mean what case do we have? Clark Lola can't be your friend because we don't understand her. She's an alien rock that we don't know anything about, so leave her alone." Martha sighed and leaned heavily into her husband. "I mean, look what happened when you told him to avoid Lex Luthor."

"He did exactly the opposite." Jonathan laughed and shook his head at Martha. "You know, I think Clark must remember more than he lets on, or he couldn't act so much like himself."

"He picks his own friends. That's for sure." Martha slipped out of Jonathan's arms and cut a path through the blanket of dew that had fallen on their lawn. "I'm tired, and it's way past our bedtime. I just have one question. What is the appropriate punishment for lifting your father into the air and accusing him of murdering your alien-rock-friend?'

* * *

"Dad, I'm home," Chloe called. It was almost twelve thirty and the kitchen light was still on. Her dad was either working or waiting up or both. Preparing herself for the long knowing stare her father always gave her when he was curious about her life, Chloe poked her head through the swinging door to their kitchen.

Instead of the watchful parent she'd been expecting, Gabe Sullivan was asleep and drooling onto a stack of spreadsheets. Chloe smiled and shook her head lovingly. "Dad? Wake up. If you sleep like that, you won't be able to move your neck in the morning."

With a groan, Gabe slowly lifted his head and winced. "I don't think I can move my neck now."

"What were you thinking?" Chloe walked around and tried to knead some of the tension out of her dad's neck. "You shouldn't work so late."

"Well you weren't home to send me to bed, so I tried to get a few things done."

The knowing stare Chloe had been expecting came after she abandoned the neck-rub to take a seat opposite her dad. "What? I went for a drive...with a friend. He needed to talk."

"I hear that from you a lot. This friend needed to talk. That friend needed to talk. Do you need to talk? I happen to be a great listener. It's where you get it from." Gabe smiled at his girl and waited. They had always had a great relationship. He loved it when she opened up and gave him a glimpse of her life.

Chloe sighed and shrugged. _This boy I like is an alien, and I'm trying not to let it freak me out too much. He recently forgot that he's in love with the resident-goddess, Lana Lang, but he'll probably remember eventually, so I'm not going to make my move. I'm a coward, and he's an alien. It could work, right? _"Everything in my life's pretty tame right now. It's all on track, you know. The Daily Planet was a dream, and I really can't wait to put out that first new issue of the Torch."

"So is your friend who needed to talk okay?" Gabe had a strong suspicion about the identity of this talkative friend. He would have to be blind to miss his daughter's ongoing obsession with Clark Kent, the farm-kid from down the street. She practically put her life on hold to try and find him when he disappeared. And now she seemed to have become his chief confidant? Gabe just hoped Clark didn't hurt her. His girl wanted everyone to think she was tough as nails. It was her way of keeping emotionally safe. Under the hard-hitting nothing-gets-me-down journalist, she was all mushy-insecure-heart, another trait she had inherited from her old man. "I mean is there anything I can do to help?"

"Don't worry. We aren't dealing with adult-intervention type problems. No drugs, alcohol, and no teen pregnancy." Chloe ticked the major teen-problem categories off with a droll grin on her face. "Me and my friend aren't going to make a Lifetime sap-fest movie of the week."_ We might make the cover of the Inquisitor though: Aliens and the Women Who Love Them._

* * *

And in another corner of the Galaxy...

"I told you. I will not be taking care of any kids. I don't like them, don't understand them, and I won't deal with them."

Luci hadn't expected to ever awaken when she fell asleep holding her little brother. The air had been so thick and her lungs just felt heavy and wet. Every gasp was an agony of cracks and bubbles that left her dreading her next breath. When she became aware of the world around her again, the voice grumbling in the background hardly warranted notice. The clean rich air expanding her lungs was enough to mesmerize her.

"Are they even alive? They look dead. I'm not going to nurse them. I'm not a nurse. I told you I didn't like kids. You can't leave me with them. It wasn't part of our deal."

Someone settled her gently onto a soft bed, and Luci cracked her eyes open just enough to see the world without exposing herself as conscious. She could see her brother sleeping a couple of feet away. His pale complexion was a little gray, but not nearly as mottled as it had been. Satisfied that she hadn't lost Ford, Luci redirected her attention to the voice that had been whining since she'd awoken.

Two women were standing at the foot of the beds. They were different, practically opposites. The whiner wasn't really standing up straight. She had a bowed look to her, and she was old, gray and fat. The other woman was tall and straight and pretty and quiet. Luci opened her mouth to try and speak, but she couldn't even make a squeak.

"Silence, Reo-Ra. I will say this once," the pretty woman said. "You belong to me and my mission until I release you. You are being compensated well, and some small amount of flexibility on your part is required. You will care for these children as though your life depended on it. You will feed them, clean them, and do whatever else is required to keep them healthy until my return. If any harm has come to them by your hand or by neglect, the reprimand will be severe."

Something about the way the pretty woman spoke caused Luci to shiver. She wanted to ask the woman why she'd come for Ford and her. She wanted to thank the woman who saved them and seemed to care about what happened to them. Luci wanted someone to acknowledge her and speak to her. She needed someone to take charge and tell her what to do right now. She needed someone to tell her everything was okay. As if she could sense Luci's distress, the pretty woman turned and stared at her.

"I hear your heart little one," the pretty woman said. She walked to Luci's bedside and dropped down to eye level. "There is no reason to fear. You are safe here, as is your brother. My associate Reo is going to protect you until I can return."

Luci couldn't help herself; she started to cry. Someone was taking care of her, and she wasn't dead, but everyone else was. Of all the questions running through her head, she managed to whisper one in husky rasp. "Who are you?"

"You may call me Onlea," the pretty woman said after a long pause. "Now you will rest."

Luci nodded obediently and squeezed her eyes shut. She mouthed the words thank you over and over until the lights dimmed and she heard the door open and close.

Reo could barely contain her disbelief until the Eradicator had her new charges sealed in for the evening. "Did you just threaten my life? I didn't sign on to this madness to be threatened. You can drop me off at the nearest commerce world. I don't need the money that bad, and I won't take care of those children." Making demands and ultimatums to a supposedly sentient Eradicator was suicidal, but Reo couldn't quite contain her panic. She couldn't live like this.

"You're mistaken, Reo. While I might find you as an individual distasteful, I would never kill you." Stepping into Reo's personal space aggressively, the Eradicator pushed the woman into one of the walls, and caressed her abdomen possessively. "You have biologic components of value. Just remember, death is not the worst reprimand I have in my repertoire. You will care for these children, and you will not abandon this quest. In addition you will not refer to my quest as madness, and you will not refer to me as the Eradicator in front of those children. The title will only further distress them."

Reo folded her arms over her chest defensively, her breaths coming in short gasps. She'd been afraid the Eradicator was going to issue her a more physical reprimand on the spot, but the machine backed away.

"In this thing, do not disappoint me," the Eradicator said. Her voice was quieter than a normal speaking voice, and it carried a threat in its clipped even rhythm. "Of all the emotions I have come to feel, disappointment is my least favorite thus far."


	41. Chapter 9 Tantalize

**-- Chapter 9 -- Tantalize --**

One emotion that the Eradicator had come to truly enjoy was fear. She had initially confused it with pleasure or joy because she found it so stimulating, but it was different. Standing before Kal-El, the one being in the galaxy she was bound to obey, she felt lovely intoxicating emotions. She felt pleasure and attraction and awe. Most deliciously, she savored the fear. It was fear for her life; he could take that in a thought. It was fear for their association and the possibility of its termination. Mostly it was fear of the feelings she found he could bring alive inside her. She felt more out of control and un-machinelike standing in his presence than anywhere else in the universe.

"You seem well." Kal-El's virtual form materialized out of the electronic sea, and the Eradicator inclined her head to him. He looked delicious in his crimson Kryptonian robes. It was unfortunate that he wasn't corporeal. "It took you long enough to get here. I almost gave up, and rethought my plans."

"And how do your plans include me?" the Eradicator asked. A half-grin tugged at her lips and she struck a calculated seductive pose. "Are we still deconstructing the galaxy? You've already accomplished the meat of that task."

"My plans include you, but I need to know a few things before we can begin. May I have a peek inside your AI?" Kal-El asked. He pretended to be oblivious to the posing and teasing, but inside he was a little...stimulated? No, the Eradicator was his tool, his pet, his former tormentor, nothing more. She didn't immediately acquiesce to his request though? Willfulness was becoming the rule rather than the exception when it came to his Eradicator. How far had she come on her road to true independent sentience?

The trill of fear that she had been relishing, increased in tenor at Kal-El's request to enter her central processor. She would have welcomed the ending to her madness not long ago, but she was becoming more attached to her new state, her feelings. Did she want anyone tampering with her mind? This wasn't just anyone, she scolded herself. Kal-El was allowed. The fear almost went beyond delicious to bitter, but the Eradicator held it in check. "Be my guest."

Interfacing with the Eradicator's mind was simple once she let down her guards, and Kal-El went in. A different picture than the tumorous mess from his last visit, her mind was smooth and flawless today. The little push he'd given shouldn't have resulted in this, slick tension, strands of color converging and flowing back out, a liquid knot. "Beautiful." There would be no need to change things today. This invasion was more about gauging loyalty and stability, and maybe it was a little about his curiosity. "Now, for the heart of the matter," Kal-El whispered.

The Eradicator knew the moment Kal-El entered her mind. She waited for the gentle probe to become a knife that would change her. He moved through her memories, her data files, and her current directives haphazardly as though getting a taste of her. And she waited for the knife of change. She waited, and Kal-El left her without the slightest adjustment.

"Interesting, directions you're taking. Don't mind me. I didn't look for details. Just needed to know if your heart was still in following me," Kal-El said. "Onlea, interesting choice in aliases. Olal-Onlea was your creator, wasn't she?"

"I thought you weren't groping my mind for details," the Eradicator snapped. "I chose an easy name that wouldn't frighten the children. Psychologically scarred future breeders are inefficient. They are quite sufficiently damaged from the coup you've been orchestrating."

Ignoring, the Eradicator's easy answer and reference to the destruction he had initiated, Kal-El grinned. "Should I call you Onlea now? It is a pretty name for a pretty Eradicator."

"Call me what you will, just tell me what you want. If you didn't pick it up from my mind, I'm quite busy." Kal-El moved closer, challenging her feigned indifference. For a moment the Eradicator forgot where she was, and that there could be no touching in this place, for a moment Onlea waited for a kiss.

Instead of a kiss or an intimate whisper, Kal-El began speaking in a clipped efficient tone. "I need you to help the revolution establish their base on Azar itself. If the Over Council is to really fall, the revolution has to reach all the way to our doorstep. I don't trust anyone else with this mission. Are you game?"

With his order, all thoughts of kissing, or being anything but an Eradicator were gone. "Of course, you honor me with your trust. I will begin right away." Bitterly, the Eradicator pulled out of the interface. That damn grin...he was a tease, an unconscionable bastard. He was...what she made him. What right did she have to be frustrated with Kal-El? It was her duty to help him. She was his Eradicator.

Nothing more...

* * *

The Talon pulsed with kids all decked out in the latest fall fashions, or plain flannel, depending on their degree of country-submersion. A scene that would normally have Chloe avidly crowd watching and looking for her first real story of the year was beneath her notice today. A warm cup of coffee steaming into her face, Chloe ran her finger down the list of core requirements for a high school freshman in the state of Kansas. While she was in school Saturday, she'd seen the principal and asked about Clark's future: freshman or sophomore. Kwan had assured her that the school district had a protocol for prolonged absences and restarting one's education. It took a little research through board of education by-laws, but Chloe got her answer. Clark was going to have to take a placement test to get back into the ninth grade, and with his absences, he could forget joining his friends in the tenth.

Unless the poor guy wanted to end up as the oldest and tallest guy in junior high, it was pretty important that Clark study some essentials before the first day of school. He was smart and well spoken, and if it weren't for the whole amnesia thing, Chloe wouldn't be worried. Clark had to relearn his parents' names though. Remembering all the facts from the Revolutionary War was bound to be a pain.

"Hey Chloe," Pete called. He settled a stack of notebooks next to the stack of borrowed textbooks she had temporarily acquired from the school storeroom. "I brought the notes you asked about, well except for the French notes. I'm a horrible French student, C's all last year. So, this is for Clark right? A 24 hour cram session before school starts tomorrow...I think you may have too much material."

"Maybe, but if Clark doesn't pass that exam waiting for him, he's going back across the street to the junior high next year. Wouldn't that suck?" Chloe offered Pete her list of core requirements. "Someone really should have looked into this sooner. Clark could have spent the summer getting ready."

"Stupid me, did I screw up again? I think Clark's already established that I suck," Pete said. "You don't need to reinforce it any, thanks."

"Don't be so hard on yourself. I didn't think about this either until the last minute. Now, big strong man, help me load the car. Time's a wasting." Chloe grabbed the short lighter stack of notes and headed for the parking lot. It took Pete a couple of seconds to get a handle on his larger pile, and Lana stopped by before he got everything into his arms.

"Would you like a hand with that?" Lana asked. She started placing the books on top of the stack already in Pete's arms. "Those look very familiar, you know? Why do you have these old texts?"

"You can't guess? Clark is going to have to take a placement test Monday to decide whether he gets to hang out with the big kids in High School or not." Pete smiled sheepishly. "You think 24 hours is enough time to cover US history, European History, English, Literature, and Algebra?"

Lana winced and shook her head. "Good luck." Leaning in she squeezed Pete's shoulders comfortingly. "I'm glad to see Clark didn't chase off his best friend after the other night too. Tell him to give me a call if I can help. If he needs it, I have unhealthy amounts of caffeine at my disposal."

"Thanks, Lana. I know Clark will appreciate it." Lana held the door for him, and Pete managed his exit relatively gracefully. He knew he was in trouble the second he caught a look at Chloe's face. She wasn't glowering or glaring, but he could tell she was pissed. Tossing the books into the back seat, Pete plopped himself in the front. "What did I do now?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Chloe snapped. "Did I say anything? I mean if Lana needed a Clark update, you're definitely the man to talk to."

Pete shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest defensively. "Okay, are you even listening to yourself? Assuming that that's what we were talking about, Lana is Clark's friend too. He hasn't been talking to her at all since he came back so asking after him is just normal. Try retracting the claws and being a little less paranoid."

Chloe winced and released the death grip she had on her steering wheel. _Why am I so damn insecure? Clark's my friend, and we're closer than we've ever been, but I don't trust it. Why can't I trust him? _"That did sound bad. I'm sorry, Pete. Please forgive me. Lana is just..."

"A major threat," Pete said. "I understand, sort of. There are guys like that too. Whitney Fordman is one. He could have dated any girl at Smallville High. All he had to do was show interest. It isn't nice, but I hope Kansas State is teaching him what it's like to be a little fish in a huge pond."

Chloe smiled at Pete's attempt to empathize and tried not feel like a complete psycho. He had a knack for calling you on your mistakes without condemning you. It was probably his most endearing trait. Not for the first time, Chloe wondered what Pete's response to Clark's secret would be. Would he smile and crack a joke or find some way to sympathize? She couldn't see him flipping out or getting really angry. Maybe someday Clark would tell him, and then they'd see.

"We should hurry, right?" Pete clicked his seat belt into place and grinned. "The clock's ticking."

* * *

Heat boiled down from the sky and steamed back up from the browning pasture grass. Hiding from the sun, the Kent's cows were huddled in loose packs under the pasture's scrub oaks and the meager shade they offered. A few had gone the extra mile and were taking a nice refreshing swim in their little mud-hole of a pond. Jonathan mopped a line of sweat off his neck and sucked in a lungful of the stagnant August air.

On a day when just walking from the truck to the pasture felt like an overwhelming undertaking, Clark was off running, checking on all the fall calves. Though he couldn't see his son at the moment, Jonathan knew he was fine. Clark didn't feel heat like the rest of the world. He could tell you hot vs. cold, but he didn't mind either really. If he had one drop of sweat on him, Jonathan would be shocked.

Technically, a spin around the pasture took Clark ten seconds flat, but he would be a few minutes today, locating the calves and their mothers. Then he'd need to find the expecting mothers by ear-tags. Jonathan had a few minutes of privacy, and he was ready to unload the bit of evidence that was lingering in the bed of his truck. The lead box containing Lola had been hanging out for two days now. He hadn't had an opportunity to head to Miller's Creek, his first choice disposal spot. Their pond was going to have to do. Shoving the box under his arm, Jonathan made his short trek to the pond. There was no way he would be able to toss the box any distance, so he waded out up to his shoulders.

Jonathan checked the latch one last time and held the box in front of him. He had told Martha and Clark that Lola was a parasite, a malevolent force in their lives. She was single-handedly keeping their family from coming back together. She was just a rock, and he believed everything he'd said about her. She was a thinking creature though. He had heard her voice with his own ears. She was an intelligent rock...who was feeding on his son. Jonathan grimaced and extended the box in front of him. It wasn't like he was killing her. He was just putting her out of commission for...indefinitely.

Jonathan lost his footing on the slick clay bottom, and the immediate choice was gone. He went under the stagnant murky-brown water and let the box drop. The stinking water burned in his nose and eyes, and Jonathan burst back up sputtering. A nearby Hereford cow seemed offended at his display and headed for the opposite bank. For a minute Jonathan considered diving down to retrieve Lola. Instead, he let her lie. This was the right choice. Lola had to go, and he knew that.

Water, ripe with cow piss and God-knew-what-else, streaming off him in waves, Jonathan cut a slow sloshing path to the bank.

"Maybe I lack perspective, but I didn't think it was that hot out here," Clark said. He was standing by the truck, with an honest, quizzical look on his face. Why on Earth would anyone take in swim in a cesspool like that?

Dusty and dirty, but not sweaty, Clark was back early. Jonathan smiled, caught a little off-guard. How much had he seen? Trying to stay calm, Jonathan offered Clark the story he'd planned for the unscheduled swim in the cow's hole. "It's not that hot, no. I was looking over the breeding timing sheet and the wind caught it." Jonathan frowned and pointed to the center of the pond. "I didn't realize how deep I was going to have to get to retrieve it, and then I ended up taking a full-dunking."

"Oh, so did you get the sheet?" Clark asked. He was ready to try a delicate x-ray scan for the sheet if his father said no, but Jonathan nodded instead, producing the soggy paper from one of his pockets. Clark returned his father's smile without much enthusiasm and tried not to sigh too obviously. The last two days had been the hardest he'd spent on Earth. His parents had grounded him for his outburst: no phone, no internet, no leaving the farm. Lola was gone. Chloe was inaccessible, and his parents were...well they weren't as annoying. They had stopped asking him about his memory, and neither had offered him an anecdote or instruction since he'd criticized them for it.

He was alone though. Clark had gotten used to having a friend inside his head, and everyone around him seemed so far away. "I guess we should head back so you can change. The calves looked fine, and I found all the pregnant girls. I can drive, if you want to ride in the back."

"That sounds like a good idea," Jonathan said. "Except that you haven't driven since you've been back. Do you remember how? I can show you if you don't. That truck upholstery couldn't get any more stained at this point."

There wasn't any obvious expectation behind that question even though it directly addressed his amnesia, and Clark had offered without thinking it through. Smiling more genuinely, he shrugged. Did he remember how to drive? It was a good question, and he had to stop and think. "Brake, clutch, gas, steering wheel, I think I remember, but you're right. I should probably take a refresher ride before I try a solo."

"Well load up then," Jonathan said. "When you have a question, just ask. Oh and I'll tell you what I told you the first time you drove the truck, if I scream in terror, use the brake."

Feeling more secure in his relationship with his son than he had in months, Jonathan only looked at the watering hole in the rear view mirror once, and he had no regrets.

* * *

On the steps of the Luthor residence, Jason Fisk, psychic-pet, waited for his employer to give him his final instructions. It was damn hot for ten in the morning, and Jason was beginning to regret the suit he'd decided on. A pair of Bermuda shorts with a cotton t-shirt sounded heavenly, to Hell with looking professional and keeping to his employer's level. "Finally," Jason hissed under his breath.

Lex pulled up to the steps in some black sports car. Jason couldn't have given the machine a name if his life depended on it. Expensive-car was the best he could manage. "I appreciate the hospitality." It was just the most stilted, uncomfortable weekend of my life. "Time to be heading to Cadmus Labs though. I thought you were going to run me late for a bit there."

"I had some business to take care of. I should have left word that you were free to go," Lex said. He smiled smoothly and offered Fisk his hand. "Enjoy the vacation. I'll be needing you soon enough."

Fisk started to lecture his employer about the etiquette of the psychic community. Shaking hands just wasn't done. It made things more comfortable for everyone, if people stayed in their own heads. It might be the last chance Jason would get to gather some ammunition against his employer. He took Lex's hand and held on for the ride.

Lex's mind wasn't on the fact that he was shaking a card-carrying psychic's hand. He was still back at the factory dissecting the latest exchange he'd shared with his father. The trip should have been quick. Toss the few things he wanted to keep from the place into a box and leave, but Lionel had dropped by. The old man smelled a mystery in his son's decision to remain in Smallville, and he wasn't the type to stand for mysteries. It would only spell trouble for everyone if he discovered his son's interests in Smallville: mutants, meteors, and Clark Kent.

Their handshake had continued two beats past a normal greeting before Lex even looked closely at Fisk. The man was glassy-eyed and stiff and...shit. Lex tried to end the handshake. He jerked back hard, leaning away from the man who was most likely fishing around in his head. "Fisk, let me go," Lex shouted.

It wasn't Lex's voice that shocked him out of his trance, but Jon did let him go. He'd seen all he needed to see. Jon smiled broadly. "I took this job because I had to. You made some fairly serious threats against me and my daughter, and you offered some very generous compensation. I took this job without telling you that I'd lost my gift. I couldn't reach out. I was blocked, afraid. Well, I got past that a couple of days ago when I shook your friend's hand. Thanks for that." Jon picked up his bag and started down the steps. "This is me quitting. I can't be a spy for you then go home and look my kid in the eye. There's a moral line to what I do. I find lost things."

"You find lost things? This is one Hell of a mistake you're making," Lex said. It was a low tactic, but he knew Fisk's weak point. How could he risk his daughter like this? "You have a daughter who's depending on you."

Fisk stopped and looked back over his shoulder. His smile wasn't cocky or afraid. It was just peaceful. "You're bluffing. I'm not sure you're consciously aware of it, but you aren't capable of those things you threatened, not today. Before you get too upset, that's good news. You're a better man than you think you are." Fisk started walking down the drive, ignoring the car that was supposed to take him to his new position.

Lex couldn't think of an argument to that broad statement. What was he supposed to say? I'm a Luthor, and we are not good men! I'll ruin your life and kick your dog too if you don't come back here and work for me! Jon Fisk wouldn't walk away from Lionel with a smile and a comment about his good character. "Dad would be disappointed," Lex said. He turned and headed inside, letting Fisk go. So he'd lost one key player. There was more than one way to skin a cat, and he already had other, less paranormal options on the burner.


	42. Chapter 10 School Is In

**- Chapter 10 - School Is In -**

The girls' room at Smallville High was full to overflowing with teenagers trying to get one last peek at their first-day fashion statement. The aroma of a dozen brands of mascara and lip gloss intermingling with institutional bathroom cleaner was eye-watering. Chloe stood in the bathroom doorway for a long second before deciding to forego the crowd and use the mirror she kept at the Torch to check her own look, particularly the concealer on her jaw hiding the little blip of acne her astringent ministrations had failed to prevent. It wasn't that she was a vain person either, Chloe rationalized. This was the first day of school. You had to try and set a tone for the year.

On her way down the hall, Chloe spotted Clark, flanked on either side by his parents. His first-day look was conservative and flannel, as usual. No obvious skin problems to conceal - lucky him. Then again, Clark had bigger problems than a mild acne break-out. The world's only alien amnesiac was possibly doomed to return to junior high. He looked kind of nervous and a little tense. Clark didn't even look her way before ducking into the Guidance Counselor's office. Chloe bit down on her bottom lip. She should have gotten him the study material sooner. What if he didn't pass the placement test?

"You look grave," Pete said. Joining her next to a bank of yellow lockers, he hiked his backpack up and followed her gaze to the closed counselor's office. "Let me guess, you're worried about Clark and his test."

"Aren't you?" Chloe asked. Pete seemed way too laid back and blasé about it all. "You're best friend may be the second oldest kid in the eighth grade after today. A little concern is due."

"Not really. What can we do? Nothing. This is all Clark now. If he fails, he can always join the junior varsity basketball team. He towers over the average eighth grader you know." Judging from Chloe's glare, she didn't appreciate his attempt at a humorous spin on Clark's predicament. "All I'm saying is Clark will be fine. So what if he has to go back to the eighth grade." _At least he's alive. _"I have family in the eighth grade. My cousin, Jesse, already has the word from me. He'll have Clark's back and make sure he survives if worst comes to worst."

"The Ross network, extended family working together in a non-Sopranos kind of way - you're good Pete. I still hope he passes." Glancing at the hall clock, 7:55, Chloe decided that the opportunity to check her hidden zit had passed. She got moving toward her first scheduled stop of the day. "So which homeroom did you draw this year?"

* * *

Mr. Flutey, guidance counselor, sat forward over his desk, his hands steepled under his chin. Gold-rimmed glasses sat solidly on his hawk-like nose. He neither smiled nor spoke while the Kents read over the school board policy and procedures sheet he'd handed them. Mr. Flutey hadn't provided Clark a copy to read, so he crossed his arms and tried to avoid the strange man's incessant stare. His office was a dark little room, dusty, and it smelled of tobacco. Now that he really looked at Mr. Flutey, he had that dried wrinkled look of someone who has smoked hard for most of their lives - the smoked-beef-jerky effect. Clark grinned at the small memory he had clawed out. Pete came up with that term to describe someone, one of their grade-school teachers. What was her name? What grade had that been?

"So Clark can restart the ninth grade with no penalty as long as he passes the state board's placement test?" Martha asked. The school springing a test on her kid when he was still recovering, still vulnerable, pricked at her maternal protectiveness. "Someone really should have warned us that Clark was going to be taking a test his first day back. He hasn't had a chance to properly prepare."

"It isn't something you can prepare for. Eight years of education are either there or they're not. If young Clark here studied all summer he couldn't fool the test," Mr. Flutey droned. "You of course have the entire staff's sympathy for the personal trials you've gone through over the last year, but proper educational placement will only help you succeed. If all goes well, you can pick up your education virtually where you left off."

Clark almost snorted. The sympathy bit would be a bit more believable if the man's expression ever changed from zombie-mode. He might not be perfectly prepared for this test, but he'd done quite a bit of speedy reading overnight thanks to the heads-up from Chloe. This could go okay.

"What happens if he fails?" Jonathan asked. "Will he get a chance to test again? Is this all or nothing?"

Mr. Flutey sighed and shook his head wearily. "This isn't pass-fail. A placement test determines the level you're at. Now, we always appreciate it when parents support their children and come in to school, but Clark will be testing all morning, and we'll design a schedule based on the results this afternoon. I think we can handle it from here."

Martha exchanged an offended look with Jonathan. This so called guidance counselor was completely devoid of social skills. "We weren't planning to stay all day. We just want to make sure you're doing what's best for our son."

"It's okay, guys. Policy says I take the test. I'll take the test then," Clark said. The protective show from his parents was comforting, and Clark couldn't keep a smile off his face. He was the strong one, virtually invulnerable, but he needed his parents to protect him from a rude bureaucrat. Martha and Jonathan were showing a bulldog style stubbornness that made Clark feel more like their son than months of coddling had managed. "What's the worst that could happen?"

Mr. Flutey showed his first hint of emotion at that question. He laughed and shrugged. "Well you could fail the functional literacy portion and land in the fast track to MacDonalds." Mr. Flutey's laugh died slowly. The Kents weren't even smiling. "It's just a little guidance counselor humor. Look, I have hundreds of kids out there who haven't even realized how bad they screwed up their schedules. Clark needs to be testing today so that he doesn't fall behind his classmates, whatever grade level he ends up in. I'm sorry if I seem brusque, but this is the busy season for me."

* * *

It wasn't the homecoming queen, a cheerleader, or girlfriend-to-the-quarterback who walked into Smallville High when Lang Lang pushed open the old blue double doors. She'd cut herself adrift from those helpful identities. They were old masks, and she'd enjoyed casting them away. Now that the outer layers were gone, you'd think the inner Lana Lang would have blossomed and asserted herself. Adjusting her new pink sweater set, Lana couldn't help feeling like a complete fraud. Every mask she shed just revealed a new one. Today she was the slightly rebellious coffee-house girl. She was single but that probably never would have happened if Whitney hadn't been moving on. He made it easier by going away.

It wasn't like this year had to be lonely or threatening. There were dozens of cliques that would be overjoyed to add Lana Lang to their regular posse. All she had to do was pick a group, choose her facade for the year, and go with it. Except that she quit cheerleading to stop hiding._ I am not a sheep, and I don't need a flock. _

Squaring her shoulders, Lana stepped into her homeroom and found a smile. She didn't need a clique but a friend wouldn't be a bad thing. Pete and Chloe were occupying a couple of the back desks. She and Chloe hadn't ever really bonded, but Pete had become a definite friend. He had helped her with the page she'd written about Clark in the yearbook, and she'd agreed to play blind date for his surprise. Having the same homeroom had to be fate. "Good morning," Lana said. She took a seat across from Chloe and behind Pete.

"Morning," Pete chimed. He pointed to the clock at the front of the room and abandoned his seat. "I better head across the hall ladies. A tardy is no way to begin my year." He leaned in to Chloe on his way past and whispered, "Play nice."

Chloe shot Pete a sarcastic eye-roll. Sure she'd shown herself to be a tiny bit defensive about queen-Lana, but she'd never actually been rude in person...well not recently anyway. "Hi Lana," she said. "Happy with your schedule?"

"I guess," Lana said. So much for fate, Pete wasn't in her homeroom after all, and Lana wasn't oblivious enough to miss the passive-aggressive twitches Chloe couldn't quite suppress around her. The tension wasn't a mystery. They were almost in a love triangle before Clark vanished. Of course, the triangle never actually materialized. There were crushes running everywhere without anyone acting on anything, and now the male vertex of said polygon didn't even remember any of it. Maybe things could be different between them now? They could at least manage to polite. "I needed to pick up a PE elective so I'm trying track. How did your schedule turn out?"

"It could technically be worse," Chloe said. She ran a finger down her schedule critically. "I have my seventh period free for the Torch, and that's what's important. I landed Mr. Jamison for literature and Ms. Elise for trigonometry, not my first choices but not a disaster either. No classes with Pete and definitely none with Clark." Chloe could have kicked herself for mentioning Clark, the pink elephant between them, the moment his name was out of her mouth. She'd opened the polite conversation door. Lana could ask all the questions she wanted, and Chloe would have to choose between chatting about Clark and being rude...well it wasn't like she hadn't been rude before.

"Maybe you have some classes with me. Let me see," Lana said. She slipped Chloe's schedule off her desk and compared it to her own. "There, you have a friend in European history. I have that third too."

At least she hadn't pounced on the conversation-Clark opening, but declaring herself a friend? Chloe barely restrained herself from snorting. Lana didn't even begin to run in the same social circle as the Pete-Chloe tier of high school. "Right, you saved my life." Did Lana think Chloe was a social reject who needed some kind of pity friendship? Chloe didn't bother to restrain her sarcasm as she took her schedule back. "I mean God forbid I have to sit with a friend from the Torch or a casual acquaintance. That would be a disaster."

"I was just trying to be nice," Lana snapped. Her face felt hot and flushed. Lana tried not to be hurt or offended. Chloe was just wry and sarcastic normally. She wasn't trying to pick a fight. The second bell rang, and Lana sighed as any obligation to continue the conversation with Chloe passed.

* * *

Functional Literacy

_Read the following questions completely and choose the MOST correct answer. Mark all answers darkly with a number 2 pencil on the score sheet. You have 40 minutes to complete this test section. There are 50 items in this section._

1. What is a traffic light?

A. A signal to direct traffic to: go, slow, or stop  
B. A car with working headlights  
C. An expensive piece of stereo equipment  
D. A child monitoring device

2. When it is noon _.

A. It is 12 o'clock  
B. It is midnight  
C. It is time to go to bed  
D. You are not allowed to drive on highways

3. What is a baseball hat?

A. An incandescent light  
B. An implement for changing a tire  
C. A clothing accessory worn on the head  
D. A small flying mammal

4. How many pieces of $1.50 candy can you buy if you have $12.00 (no tax is assessed)

A. 12  
B. 4  
C. 10  
D. 8

Clark looked up from the first page of the functional literacy portion of his placement test with a smile on his face. His parents had left disgruntled, but Clark understood Mr. Flutey's joke about failing functional literacy now. If you could read the questions at all, you wouldn't fail.

At the very least, this was going to be a nice confidence builder. Maybe the whole test would be as pleasantly easy? Not likely, but he could hope.

* * *

When the bell rang releasing fourth period, half the student body headed for the cafeteria. The more sensible kids avoided the grotesque food and droves of junior high kids to eat packed lunches on the quad or grab a snack from the gym's vending machines. Chloe fell into the latter category. She bought a can of carbonated caffeine before heading to the Torch offices to tweak her opening editorial. Pete would know where to find her, and as far as she knew, Clark was still in guidance counseling Hell with Mr. Flutey.

The Torch offices weren't really offices. You had a big room with computer stations and Ink Jet printers. While it was no Daily Planet, Chloe was sort of happy to be back. At the Planet she was a peon barely worthy of coffee fetching duties. The reporters normally reserved all fetching for their college interns. The Torch was just a high school student publication, but she was the big fish in this office. Yes she'd learned things at the Planet, besides how Bob Norris likes his coffee. Not that she would have believed it before she'd been there, but Chloe learned more in the trenches running her little paper than watching the big boys run theirs.

Chloe didn't even make it to her computer before the assistant editor found her. Mark was rather short and slightly acne burned around the cheeks, but he was a good reporter, and a huge help as assistant editor. He couldn't seem to keep his hands from tugging at his curly brown hair when stressed, and Chloe had a suspicion he'd be bald prematurely if he didn't learn to calm down. His hair was pointing in thirty directions at once, a sure sign of extreme panic for Mark.

"We've got a problem," Mark said. He grabbed a seat at one of the tables and took a deep calming breath. "Lyn that writes the horoscopes and the advice column quit this morning. She told me in homeroom. A spot opened up on the cheerleading squad and she made it. She said she just didn't have time for the paper this year. Also, Clark always kept us in lunch menus and activity schedules. Brian who writes the sports articles had been picking up that slack, but he seems to think it's beneath him this year, and he quit. He said something about writing for the yearbook being less stressful, fewer deadlines or something. That's two regular columns down and we haven't even had our first official meeting. I was thinking that we could roll back our opening issue to next week?"

Chloe smiled, actually enjoying a small crisis to start the year. "Don't panic. That's why we bring in a fresh crop of freshmen yearly. I'm sure Lyn and Brian will be fairly easily replaced." Chloe crossed her arms and sighed. A couple of jerks who were too busy for her paper – she refused to get angry over them. They weren't worth it. "There's no need to postpone anything. All we have to do is pick up the slack until the club fair in two weeks. So would you like sports or advice?"

"You and me writing extra articles? I guess that could work. I could write about sports, except I really don't want to interview linemen and quarterbacks and whatever the rest of them are called. Give me advice I guess," Mark said. He paused and grimaced. "That means I have two articles due tomorrow. Excuse me." Taking a seat at one of the workstations he rested his head in his hands and commenced tugging at his hair.

"Bald before thirty," Chloe whispered. She booted up her station, but instead of heading to her editorial for tweaking, she started a new file, sports. At least she knew a football player. Bench warmer or not, Pete could give her a scoop on the year. The Crows had a new quarterback and coach. That was big news to the more school-spirited crowd.

* * *

Slouching low in his seat, Clark waited outside the counselor's office for a word on his future. Mr. Flutey had encouraged him to grab a bite to eat and come back at one, but Clark didn't exactly know where the cafeteria was. Asking around for directions didn't appeal to him. He'd probably ask someone he was supposed to be bosom buddies with, and they'd be upset that he didn't know them. Heck, they'd probably think it was great gossip that he couldn't even find the stupid cafeteria. The idea of a lot of humans he didn't know whispering about his problems made his skin crawl.

"Mr. Kent, I thought I sent you to lunch?" While Clark had been contemplating his gossip-fodder status, Mr. Flutey had returned from the grading room. He was holding the stack of papers Clark had spent the morning bubbling in. "Too nervous to eat?"

"I guess," Clark said. He nodded to the papers and offered a hesitant smile. "How does it look?"

"Well, I haven't had a chance to dissect it thoroughly, but it looks pretty good. Come on in and we'll talk about what we have here." Mr. Flutey unlocked his door and headed in. "I was half-expecting you to have serious problems. The brain is a funny organ. It can take some retraining when basic functions like memory are scrambled."

"But I did okay?" Clark didn't even try to suppress the sense of accomplishment that filled him. He had failed at a lot of things over the summer: memory recovery, training to manipulate kryptonite, managing peace between Lola and his parents. Finally he had one success to bolster his ego. "I won't have to go back to junior high?"

"I don't think that will be necessary, no." Mr. Flutey dealt the scantron score sheets into two piles. "I was happy with all your math and sciences. The graduated scale estimates you'd be in the 95th percentile of entering ninth graders in Kansas, and you were sitting at that level before the amnesia based on your standardized tests."

He aced the math and science then. Clark wasn't surprised. Those were the reasonable questions. If he didn't know them right off, he could figure them out. The tests that had him worried were the ones where he'd found himself guessing every other question. So he didn't remember what a Capulet was. It didn't sound like Mr. Flutey was going to hold his memory gaps against him.

"Your literature and histories were a little less promising. 50th percentile isn't what your records suggest would be normal. It still isn't something I'd hold you back over. You'll pick those things back up. There's a lot of repetition in those areas of the curriculum. I have to tell you, the biggest concern was functional literacy." Mr. Flutey pulled out one of the scantrons and handed it across to Clark. "You missed 10 of 50. I believe that's 80% but only 35th percentile."

Clark stared down at the sheet, shock written on his face. "I can read just fine. I know I'm literate. How do you think I passed the other sections?"

Mr. Flutey chuckled and leaned back in his chair. "I'm sure it was the functional part that slipped you up. The test checks your basic reading and math skills, but more subtly it also gauges whether you have a working understanding of society."

"I failed functional literacy. I can't believe I failed functional literacy," Clark stared at the machine-graded slip of paper and its damning red marks. "What does this mean?"

Mr. Flutey turned to his computer and started typing. "Don't worry about it. Remember, we can't really fail a placement test. I have your original 9th grade schedule on file and I'm going to reenroll you in your courses. Instead of a free period sixth, I'm putting you in a special topic class. You'll report to room 412. My wife, Mrs. Flutey, teaches it. She'll go over these tests and help you figure out what your brain is missing." Mr. Flutey's hand was already under his printer when it spat out Clark's schedule. "Scamper on now. Get some lunch. Go to your afternoon classes."

Clark accepted his schedule and returned the scantron he'd been staring at. Mr. Flutey didn't wait to see if Clark was going to accept his dismissal, he pulled a brown bag lunch out of his desk and started unpacking. "Thanks," Clark said. He walked out of the guidance counselor's office as a ninth grader, and that was a victory. Excepting that the state of Kansas didn't consider him functionally literate, he'd done great on the placement test.

"Clark, you're looking a little lost there."

Why couldn't the steady stream of kids up and down the hall stay anonymous? Why did someone have to pick him out of the crowd when he was feeling like a complete idiot? It took a second to place this girl, but Clark at least had a name for her face, Lana Lang. He'd embarrassed himself the first time he saw her, running away like a spooked animal. "I'm not lost. I just don't know where I'm going."

"I see." Lana grinned and shook her head at him. "Well, why don't you let me help? Do you have a destination in mind?"

"You really don't have to." Lana held out her hand for his schedule, and Clark relented. He did need to know where to go, and she was pretty. She was almost too picture-perfect. There was an unreality about her. "A point in the direction of Mr. Ward's US history would be nice."

"Tell you what. There's still twenty minutes left in lunch. How about I give you the grand tour, and I promise to get you to fifth period on time." Lana gestured for Clark to follow her, and just like that, her mysterious not-quite-love interest was back. He'd lost the awkward smitten look he used to wear around her, but that was a good thing. Maybe they could start a friendship without all the expectations and pent up emotions running everywhere. "This building is the main hall. Most of your classes will be in here. The administration takes up a lot of the first floor. Almost all the freshman core classes are on the second floor. Just look for the number over the door. You've got a couple of electives on here that are out of this building. Follow me, and I'll point them out."

Clark listened to Lana's tour abstractly. He did need to know where things were, but he found himself pondering the guide more than the school. Where did Lana Lang fit into the puzzle of the old Clark's life? She was one of his six hallucinations – probably another friend. Someone would have told him if there was anything more between them. They tried to tell him everything else.

Lana couldn't help feeling a little silly as she finished her grand tour pointing out the library and the gymnasium. Clark had a slightly distant look like he was only half-listening. The poor guy probably had a lot on his mind. At least his schedule was a high school one and she wasn't showing him where the junior high was. "I guess that's it. You still have ten minutes to make it to history."

"Thanks. Now maybe I won't spend too much time wandering around lost," Clark said. "I really didn't want to ask Mr. Flutey to show me around."

"He is creepy, I know." Lana bit her lip as the silence between them began to grow. "You know the Talon is close to school," she blurted. "I mean while I'm giving tours, I might as well direct you to my coffee shop. You helped me get it started. I mean, I'd like to buy you a latte on the house some time." Lana felt her cheeks flush for the second time that day. "I didn't mean that like it sounded. I'm not asking you out or anything."

Her awkward invitation was sweet, and Clark smiled easily. "I honestly don't remember if I like lattes, but I'd love to try one out."


	43. Chapter 11 Unwinding

**- Chapter 11 - Unwinding -  
**

The desire to strangle another human being wasn't something Martha Kent spent a lot of time having to suppress. Generally she found the people around her at the very least bearable. Clark's guidance counselor was the exception. She hadn't quite been able to unwind after their abrasive visit to the high school. Cutting wood, normally a great tension reliever, hadn't helped. Cleaning in the kitchen definitely wasn't helping. Jonathan headed for the pastures when they got home and hadn't even come back in for lunch so she couldn't vent to him. Martha tossed her dish rag into the sink and headed for the tool shed.

Digging in the garden was more physically demanding, and she was still so mad that she wanted to be sweating. Mentally composing a letter to the board of education about proper demeanor for guidance counselors, Martha selected a hoe and headed for the tomato patch.

The rows of healthy blue-green tomato vines were nearly shoulder high and heavy with their last crop of the growing season. They only attempted two and a half acres, enough to keep their family and the local produce market supplied. That was the rule with the organic produce, just enough for local markets.

A smattering of yellowish morning glories dotted the rows, and Martha attacked them swinging. Where a gentle sweep with her sharp hoe would have decapitated the plants, Martha dug them out relishing the extra effort and the smell of wet earth. Shredding her way down row one, Martha almost felt relaxed by the middle of row two. She hit a stone, and pulled it up with her hoe to toss it out of the field, but it wasn't a regular stone. Crystal-green death to her son, meteor rocks, received an express trip off the farm after a short quarantine in the lead box over the refrigerator. Rather than pocket the rock and keep working, Martha propped the hoe against the vines where she was leaving off. School would be out soon and she didn't want to accidentally make Clark ill.

The porch wasn't empty when she made her way around to the house. Jonathan was sprawled on the swing with a glass of ice water pressed into his forehead.

"The sun was baking my brain," Jonathan said. He could tell from Martha's body language that she was less tense than when he'd headed out. Not that he left the meeting with Flutey at ease, but he didn't let it drive him crazy. Martha had been in perpetual mother-bear mode since Clark's return though. Jonathan couldn't help wondering if the acerbic Mr. Flutey knew how close he came to a serious confrontation. "I finished the final spray on the corn. We should be ready to harvest in a couple of weeks."

"You've been busy. I bet you're hungry. Would you like some tuna salad? I made some for lunch. Stay put and I'll raid the fridge for you," Martha said.

"I have two legs," Jonathan said. He made to rise but Martha shooed him back.

"It's on my way." Scooting her feet over the entry mat, Martha left most of the garden dirt behind before crossing her relatively clean linoleum. Groping over the top of the refrigerator for their lead box, Martha frowned because it wasn't within her reach. Jonathan or Clark must have shoved it beyond her limited range. She had to drag a bar stool over to get a good look. Her first thought was that she needed to dust up there. It was disgusting. Aside from an extra loaf of bread, their over-the-fridge cubby was empty though. The lead box was missing?

What could have happened to their lead box? Martha stepped down and sat on the stool properly. She pulled out the bit of kryptonite she'd unearthed and fingered it nervously. "Jon, did you move the lead box?" she called. A tendril of suspicion took root in her gut, tugging at her insides even as she asked her question. When Lola disappeared less than a week ago, Jon had asked her how you killed a rock. Martha had no idea how to kill a rock, but she knew exactly how to silence one. "Jonathan?"

When he walked through the kitchen door, Jonathan's smile was gone and his eyes strayed straight over the refrigerator. Martha willed him to be shocked. She willed him to walk over and grope around for the box. They didn't make family decisions solo, and Jonathan wouldn't have taken matters into his own hands no matter how much he despised Lola. He knew better. Damn you, be shocked, Martha commanded silently.

"What do you need the lead box for?" Jonathan couldn't look Martha in the eyes. He had expected this secret to last longer. It should have been weeks before anything raised suspicion about Lola's abrupt departure. Surely she hadn't figured it out? He just had to think fast.

"I found some meteor rock in the tomato patch," Martha said. She tossed the little stone across the room, and Jonathan caught it. "I was going to put it away before Clark got home. That's what we use the lead box for. So where is it?" His long pause was more answer than she wanted. "Are you trying to think of a lie? Jonathan, what did you do?"

Martha was right; he had been groping for a lie, a good one, anything believable. She'd know though. She could read him. And the betrayal and the anger he saw in her eyes, he deserved those. He could lie to the whole world, but he wasn't ever supposed to lie to her. It was sacrosanct to their partnership. Martha would forgive him for this though. She had to understand. "I just put Lola away. Things still aren't perfect, but it helped didn't it? Clark's better. Our family is better now that the leech is gone. She was poisoning his mind." Jonathan was proud of the even calm tone he used to explain, but he couldn't see a lessening to the storm building in Martha's eyes.

"You fixed it. That lead box made it all better. How do you know it wasn't time for things to get better? We talked Jonathan and he talked and we all listened." Martha started pacing the kitchen her breaths coming jaggedly. "You jeopardized our relationship, my relationship, with my son. If he finds out, he won't forgive us, Jonathan." Martha could still remember the lopsided physical confrontation that resulted when Clark thought they'd done something to his friend. She diffused that situation, assured Clark that they wouldn't betray him like that. Had she really been sure that Jonathan was innocent in that moment? No, but she'd had faith that he wouldn't act without her. She'd been stupid and naive and blind.

"I'm right. You have to know I was right." Jonathan tried to intercept Martha in her rapid pacing but she flinched away from him. "You can't tell Clark. What do you want me to do?"

"I wanted you to trust me and consult me. We've always been a team." Martha stopped her pacing and turned to face Jonathan head on. He didn't look contrite or ashamed. He looked fierce and stubborn and certain of his damn righteousness. "I hope you were right. I hope to God you were right. The bridge is burned now. Lola is an enemy, and we declared war." When Jonathan tried to touch her again, Martha stepped out of his reach. Her anger was cooling now to a thick bitter fear, fear of losing her son again, but this time losing him of his own volition. "Clark is convinced that Lola abandoned him. We have to make sure that the lead box stays shut. It's our only defense."

* * *

When the last bell of the day rang at Smallville High, thirty ninth graders ran out of algebra, leaving Clark Kent in their dust. He lingered behind, assuming that Mr. Timmons would want a word with him like his other teachers had. The algebra teacher was quite young compared with the other faculty Clark had encountered so far. He looked more like a handsome fraternity member than a high school math teacher.

"Mr. Kent, can I help you?" Mr. Timmons had to check the seating chart to find a name, and Clark smiled. For a change, someone Clark thought of as a stranger seemed to reciprocate the sentiment.

"I guess I thought you would want a word with me after class. Like the other teachers," Clark said. He gathered his books and headed to the front of the room. "If you don't need anything I'll head home."

Mr. Timmons frowned at his student, just a quiet, generic, flannel sporting kid by all appearances. Clark was one face out of two hundred and fifty some odd students he had encountered over the course of his day. "I'm new. This is my first semester teaching here. I'm fresh from Kansas State actually. If there's anything I should know, please, fill me in."

"Nothing big really, I missed half of my freshman year so I have to repeat it. Don't worry about the amnesia rumors you're bound to hear either. My brain is banged up but not busted. I passed a placement test to be here," Clark said. "That's pretty much everything."

Mr. Timmons started to ask for more details, but Clark had shared what he felt comfortable with already. The teachers' lounge gossip mill was bound to provide him with any pertinent information Clark had skipped. "Well, if you need to talk or you're having trouble with the work, let me know. It's why I'm here."

"Thanks, I'm just glad to have one teacher who doesn't remember me from last year. I've been hugged five times today by teachers I don't remember. Two of those were in the hall, and from the stares the student body gave us, I'm guessing that helps make for social pariahs...Things will probably be quieter for me after today. Thanks again. See you later."

"Yeah, tomorrow, algebra, same time, same place," Mr. Timmons said. He returned Clark's smile, relieved to have survived both his first day teaching and his first real student-teacher conversation.

Clark waved and headed off, proud of himself for the second time in one day. He felt very adult and cosmopolitan for seeing the humor in his bizarre situation. And there was a pleasant surprise waiting for him in the rapidly emptying hall. Chloe was leaning against the wall with her arms crossed over her chest. She looked different than the other humans but not in a bad way. Her pea-green wide-collared jacket had not been imitated by another girl that he'd seen, but it suited her. The freshmen girls had been mostly cookie cutters of each other, notable variations being few and far between. "How did you know where I was going to be at seventh period?" Clark asked.

"Like any good journalist, I have my sources," Chloe said. "Since we both survived today, I was thinking we could sip some overpriced coffee and chat it up."

"At the Talon?" Clark asked. Technically, he was grounded, and he wasn't in denial about deserving the punishment. But it was tempting to risk a little extra censure for the quality Chloe-time. Feeling excited and a little criminal, Clark decided not to bring up his grounding. "I was going to try a latte some time soon. Let's go."

* * *

A thousand dollar Italian gray suit-coat crumpled carelessly over a plush leather airplane seat. The rest of the suit and its owner lounged across the private plane's aisle, a picture of boredom and relaxation. Beneath his clean shaven deadpan, Benjamin Dreyer seethed. He wasn't accustomed to small towns, or working his way anywhere except up. Today he left a management position and a corner office at Luthor Corp Industrial in Chicago for the God-forsaken position of CEO of Smallville Fertilizer. Ben couldn't conceive a larger step down that didn't involve disgrace and prison. He'd done things worthy of prison over ten years working in Luthor Corp. He only answered to Lionel Luthor himself, and there had never been a hint of dissatisfaction, at least until that memo.

A single sheet of paper, a memorandum from Lionel, landed on his desk last week informing him of his transfer. The son of a bitch hadn't even notified him in person, or even over the phone. Ben had tried to contact Lionel, but the devil knew when to vanish. Well, Lionel wasn't the only business man with uses for an intelligent man willing to flaunt laws and social mores for profit. Despite his inner rage, Ben's expression remained impassive, and he stared out the plane window sightlessly. An explanation, had best be forthcoming in the near future, or this executive was heading for greener pastures.

* * *

On his all too short run for home, Clark tried to imagine what punishment his parents would tack onto his month-long grounding. His after school jaunt to the Talon hadn't taken long, and it was possible that he hadn't been missed, possible but not probable. Considering the overprotective duo he called parents, a full-scale search might already be underway. For a moment he almost regretted his rebellious cup of coffee with Chloe, but even if his parents totally overreacted, it was worth it.

Clark didn't stop to contemplate what that sentiment meant about his relationship with Chloe. She was his friend and he enjoyed the time they spent together. She was an insider who didn't seem overly disturbed by his short comings. While not a confidant on the level Lola had been, Chloe came as close as someone who wasn't directly exchanging thoughts could be. Clark couldn't help feeling abandoned and betrayed if he let himself think about Lola. So as a rule he refused think about her. If Lola could do without him, he didn't need her, and there was no way Clark was going to let the situation depress him. Forcing his mind back onto a slightly less distressing path, he tried to guess his impending punishment.

Clark didn't stop to notice the painting-perfect backyard his speed rendered. Allowing the motionless world to catch up, Clark stopped running at the porch. White fall blossoms that began their gradual descent from his mom's butterfly bush while Clark was stepping out of the Talon, found the ground as he headed for the front door. He paused with a hand on the knob, the sound of his parent's raised voices greeting him. Were they screaming about him? He hadn't expected them to get that angry about his late arrival. Maybe he miscalculated? Why would they be shouting at each other though? Rather than make himself later by dawdling, Clark headed inside.

Martha and Jonathan didn't seem to notice him at first. They were standing on opposite sides of the kitchen. Martha's face was splotchy and red and she looked like she might have been crying. Jonathan had his arms crossed over his chest and a hard set to his jaw. Over more than three months, the worst fight Clark had witnessed between his parents had been a polite discussion of what to watch on Wednesday nights. The only tension in their home seemed to revolve around Clark. Where had the tranquility between them gone? What happened? This fight couldn't be about his late arrival, could it?

Martha could feel her fingers ache from the death grip she had on her counter. She'd tried reasoning and crying and screaming, but Jonathan was so damn stubborn. He refused to tell her where he'd stowed Lola, as though she couldn't be trusted, as though she might betray him. He wanted her to trust him instead, as if she could. Searching for an argument, an answer to their impasse, Martha spotted Clark standing in the doorway. Her stomach flipped over, and Martha started praying. _God, don't let him have overheard us. _And seemingly her prayer was answered, because Clark didn't storm over angrily. He just seemed solemn and confused like he didn't understand what was happening.

Jonathan followed Martha's deer-in-headlights stare, and felt his own rush of adrenaline. Clark was home, for how long was anyone's guess. He could have heard everything or nothing. Jonathan's money was on nothing, considering that he wasn't back up in the air being flung around and interrogated. Playing his hunch, Jonathan cleared his throat, and nodded to Clark. "Hey there, is school is already out? Well, time got away from me a little there. I better get back to work."

Martha bit her lip, coming to the same conclusion as Jonathan that Clark hadn't overheard anything damning. "Come here," Martha said. She crossed the kitchen and pulled Clark into a quick hug, purposefully ignoring Jonathan and his excuse to get away. It was only a temporary reprieve, and he knew it. "Well, how did it go? Was the test okay?"

Clark didn't say anything for a long pause. Apparently, his parents weren't interested in sharing their disagreement, so much for their talk about being a team and a family. Maybe they just thought he was too stupid to recognize a serious fight when he walked in on it? "The test was fine. Mr. Flutey reenrolled me in 9th grade." Clark omitted the whole functional literacy issue. If they could keep secrets, so could he.

"That is fabulous," Martha said. She could see Clark's unasked question in his eyes, and she hated lying to him even by omission. Before the amnesia, Clark never would have let them get away without even a question, but this young man barely trusted them as it was. He didn't need excuses to doubt them.

"I knew you could do it," Jonathan said. He squeezed Clark's shoulder on his way out the door. It was time to escape Martha's cross examination, and his son's questioning stare. Clark had to stay out of the loop for now. And Martha couldn't seem to understand that she was better off knowing as little as possible. If Clark found out about Lola and didn't take things well, one of them had to be able to truthfully claim at least partial ignorance.

Clark accepted his parents' congratulations and embraces and tried not to be too worried or hurt by his their fight. This was probably how parent-child relationships were supposed to work. Mr. Flutey proved via standardized test that he didn't completely understand human society yet. With a somewhat cynical smile Clark decided to be glad his parents were distracted. They hadn't even noticed that he was nearly an hour late getting home.

"I should start my chores too," Clark said. Hesitating at the door, he added a quiet question. "Is everything okay?"

"It is okay," Martha replied. She forced a smile on her face at least until Clark closed the door behind him. "Except it really isn't."

* * *

And on a spaceship docked outside the Beta-Aught Regional Thelosian Translocator, two orphans stalked their reluctant caregiver.

Her short orange curls covered in a layer of dust, Luci motioned her little brother to follow her quietly. The service shaft they were navigating was narrow and cramped and filthy. There was no way Reo-Ra would even fit inside, but Luci would rather she didn't hear them before their raid. The old cow liked to control everything, to limit the kids to their sleep room and studies. Well Luci was tired of fending off Ford's questions about their parents. He was too little to understand that his parents were dead from the circumstantial evidence, and she wasn't ready to burst his bubble with cold hard facts. Instead she was going to distract him every way she knew how, and the little monster loved subterfuge.

Pushing back an access panel, Luci poked her head out and scanned the room for their quarry. Reo was parked in her usual spot. Monitor barely four inches from her nose and earpieces in place, a supernova probably wouldn't have been able to distract the cow from her stupid number crunching. Luci curled her lip in disgust at the woman's unkempt hair and clothes and the way her stomach bulged out unattractively. Why had Onlea, their mysterious savior, abandoned them with that thing? Sighing, Luci crept out of the service shaft.

Sliding in front of one of the other terminals Luci slipped on a pair of earpieces and pulled up the security system. Reo had programmed the ship to limit the children's access to everything, and Luci had no idea how to get around those barriers from the limited access they had in their rooms. The unrestricted terminal should be easier to work with. She was so focused on getting security changed that she didn't notice when her little brother wandered off.

Leaving Luci to her mission, Ford slipped away and stood by Reo-Ra. His sister was trying to be in charge at least as hard as Ms. Reo. She wouldn't answer his questions, and she thought that a fake game of spies would make him leave her alone. But whatever she thought of him, Ford didn't think of himself as little or stupid. He heard his sister cry in her sleep, and he'd heard the word death before. He suspected that his parents were dead. He wasn't a baby. He just wanted someone to explain it to him, to tell him the truth. Was death permanent or would his parents come back? Were they even dead?

Reo-Ra was a grownup, and even if she wouldn't answer his questions, it wouldn't hurt to ask. Ford reached a hand out and tugged at Reo's sleeve. The old lady jumped and almost fell out of her chair, but she didn't make enough noise to disturb Luci behind her own set of earpieces. "Can I ask you a question?" Ford asked. He saw Reo pull out her earpieces and he tried again. "Can I please ask you a question?"

"How did you get out here?" Reo gasped. She'd been hard at work, sifting through her old data, killing time, and trying to keep her mind off the strange project she was enrolled in. Keeping the children corralled was just one part of her shoddy denial scheme.

Seemingly oblivious to the terrified look in Reo-Ra's eyes, Ford continued with his question as though his request had been accepted. "Are my parents coming back? I think they might be dead. Luci talks in her sleep."

God help her, Reo had no idea how to deal with a small child. This one standing there covered from head to foot in dirt and asking her if he was an orphan, left her flummoxed. "You should talk to your sister."

"She won't talk to me," Ford said. He stared Reo in the eyes and tried to look strong and big. He wasn't a baby. "Tell me the truth."

"They died." In an instant, Reo decided to treat Ford as an equal instead of a child. The rules for dealing with peers were so much simpler. "And they aren't coming back." The boy's eyes got big and his nostrils flared for a moment, but he nodded as though the news wasn't unexpected.

"Thanks. If you'll just go back to work, me and Luci will head back to our rooms in a minute," Ford said with a casual gesture to his sister at the terminal across the room. For the first time since waking up on this ship, Ford felt calm and in control. A defense mechanism found in many alien species in one form or another had activated with Reo's declaration. Grief and pain that should have crushed him disappeared into a black hole along with the rest of his pesky emotions. He would be able to function and protect himself and his sister because of that coping mechanism. Ford didn't know why he felt better, but he embraced the chill objectivity. "We'll stay out of your way Ms. Reo."


	44. Chapter 12 Meet the Freak

**- Chapter 12 - Meet the Freak -**

"My name is Luci. How are you? Very nice thank you. May I have a glass of water? Yes, you may. It is dripping outside. Wear your coat," Luci recited in heavily accented English.

"You're not getting it right," Ford chimed in. He didn't look away from the three dimensional puzzle he was working on their computer terminal. "You're feeling very well, and it rains outside. Your glass of water could drip."

Luci frowned at her little brother's effortless pronunciation and recollection of the strange dialect their benefactress Onlea had left them to learn. Languages, Galactic standard included, were not among Luci's favorite subjects. They were too arbitrary, all rote memorization. Onlea asked that they learn it though, and Luci wasn't about to argue with her. Onlea saved their lives. Learning English wasn't a huge thing to ask, and Ford was even good at it.

Good at English and calmly playing games all day, Ford was acting like everything was normal, and it was really starting to get on Luci's nerves. She wanted to shake the cold little brat until he cried like he was supposed to. They were orphans, and Ford was supposed to be traumatized...except she hadn't let him know about their parents. She hadn't known how to tell him. She still didn't.

Ford had been all questions and fear after their rescue and then he'd been fine. Luci couldn't put her finger on when things changed, when he started dealing with everything so well. She'd been distracted with important things: keeping them safe, learning English, managing Reo. At some point while she hadn't been paying attention, Ford changed from the whiny brat she understood into the calm video game master ignoring her. He hadn't asked about their parents or crawled in bed with her for weeks. And he'd attacked the language lessons with focus Luci wouldn't have believed her little brother possessed.

Luci's frown deepened and she stared at the back of her brother's head as though it might divulge some bit of insight into its inner workings. Maybe she should just stop looking for trouble. Ford was fine, and she needed to figure out a way to master English the way he was. Pleasing Onlea was at the top of her priority list. Luci wasn't giving their mysterious savior any reasons to change her mind about their value. It was too easy to shoot annoying cargo or passengers out the nearest airlock. "How do you do that you little worm? I swear you study half the time with double the effect."

"I'm smarter than you," Ford said. Still not looking up from his game, he tossed a clear electric notepad to his sister. The surface was covered in line after line of alien characters, more English. "Translate that, if you can."

"Smarter than me? I don't think so," Luci snapped. She scanned the document Ford had tossed her, understanding maybe one word in three. "What is this?"

"It's my manifesto." Ford finally looked up from his game and grinned at his sister. "Once you get a little better at English, you can read the documents Onlea has on the ship's system about Earth. That's where we're going. Reo-Ra told me so."

"Earth? And since when do you talk to that cow, Reo?" Luci couldn't help being offended. Ford barely talked to her. Why would he feel the need to exchange words with Reo-Ra, the woman who didn't even want to be bothered with them?

"She's not a cow. She's just older," Ford said. More important than her age, her size, or anything else, Reo-Ra knew what was happening. And as far as Ford could tell she hadn't lied to him yet. Reo wouldn't tell him anything about Onlea or her plans, but at least she'd told him some of the truth. It was more than he could say for Luci. She'd tried to protect him, to keep little details like his parents' death from him. He wasn't angry at her for lying, by the same token that he wasn't sad about his parents death. He just wasn't anything right now. It made it easy to think and learn and plan. The manifesto his sister was struggling to read was the result of several weeks careful reading and planning. He'd penned it in English, testing the language skills he'd been practicing. "I was thinking that maybe we wouldn't want to do whatever Onlea wants us to do when we get to Earth. So we should learn enough to get by without her help."

Luci set aside the manifesto that she couldn't quite read and tried not to cry. Ford was acting so grown up. He was really thinking ahead. Maybe he was a lot smarter than she usually gave him credit for. "I can't read that thing, but it's really great that you wrote it. You want to tell me about it?"

Ford shook his head and kept playing his game. "You can try reading it later." He switched to English smoothly. "It can be a goal."

* * *

Slouched low in her seat, Reo-Ra stared at the bridge's communication screen. The green incoming message light had been flashing for several minutes. On a normal day, a message from virtually anywhere in the galaxy could have been loaded in a matter of seconds, but the escalating civil war had interrupted relays and slowed matters considerably. Rather than annoying Reo, the delay was welcome, giving her a chance to compose her thoughts for the impending interrogation. There was little question about who was on the line. The Eradicator was overdue checking in.

The screen flashed to life without warning, filling with the image of a decidedly scorched Eradicator. Soot smudged her pale cheeks, and steam rose in waves off her exterior. "Are you damaged?" Reo asked politely.

"Hardly," the Eradicator replied. The billow of smoke which followed her reply didn't engender much confidence in Reo. "Make the ship ready for departure. I am returning post haste. We need to establish you and the children before things get any hotter with this war." Kal was using his Eradicator a lot for a man who'd sworn her off until she completed her personal mission. Rather than being happy about the direction from Kal-El, the Eradicator found herself annoyed at having to leave Reo and the kiddies in limbo. She'd become truly attached to her breeding program, and she wanted to see it through.

"Time management," the Eradicator mumbled, using a phase from the remnants of Chloe's meandering memories still echoing through her synapses. The Eradicator who wanted to have everything needed serious time management.

* * *

Couches were made for sitting, not for sleeping. The broken-down floral print couch in the Kent's living room was barely made for sitting anymore. Jonathan had to rock himself out of the hole he'd spent the night pretending to sleep in. He tossed aside his quilt and pillow without bothering to fold them. He wasn't in the mood to be neat. The industrious banging in the kitchen wasn't helping his mood any. Apparently, Martha made it out of bed on time. People who got to sleep in real beds without holes or springs poking them in the back all night, had no trouble rising with the chickens. Hesitating outside the kitchen holding his back, Jonathan decided to do breakfast before braving the stairs for a shower and change of clothes. It would give him a chance loosen up and maybe get a sympathy jab in.

Nearly two months on the couch was cruel and unusual. Martha had to forgive him sooner or later. It wasn't like he'd killed someone. It was just a small lie and just to protect their family. Stooping over dramatically for effect, Jonathan headed into the kitchen, but it wasn't Martha fixing breakfast. Clark was studiously studying the back of a box of strawberry Pop-Tarts, while some instant oatmeal boiled away on the stove. Abandoning the dramatic stoop meant to shame Martha, Jonathan frowned. "Where's your mother?"

"Morning Dad. Mom's asleep." Clark didn't look up from the directions on the box for another couple of beats. "You know, convenience food I can handle. Would you like your processed carbohydrates boiled or toasted?"

"Toasted...Your mother's still asleep?" A couple of seconds earlier, Jonathan had been uncharitably imagining Martha sprawled across their queen size sleeper, but now his annoyance and back-pain seemed a little less important. Was Martha sick? Aside from the flu, Jonathan couldn't think of anything that would make his wife turn off her alarm clock and roll over. "Should I go check on her?"

"Please don't." Clark inserted his dad's breakfast selection into the toaster and smiled to himself. "I turned off her alarm clock."

"You what?" Jonathan tried to wrap his mind around that bit of information. Why would Clark turn off his mother's alarm clock? He had been doing so well, even after things got sticky between his parents. They'd managed not to fight in front of him, and Clark just accepted the new status quo with Dad on the couch and Mom selling cheerful a little too hard all the time. You couldn't live in the same house with them and not pick up on some of the tension running around. You couldn't exactly call turning your mother's alarm off a rebellion though. Maybe it was a cry for help, or something? "Do you mind elaborating a bit there?"

Clark sighed and poured his oatmeal into a plastic bowl. The stuff settled into a sticky amorphous lump of appetizing goop. Clark stabbed the concoction with his spoon and set it on the table. The spoon stayed stubbornly erect as if defying his assessment of appetizing. Breakfast wasn't perfect, so what. Nothing was perfect.

His parents had been feuding over something for weeks now. Clark had been good, respected their privacy, and waited for it all to blow over. But whatever had them barely civil with each other wasn't blowing anywhere. Sleeping, generally a mental necessity more than a physical one for him, had become impossible. Lately, Clark spent his evenings listening to his parents' sleepless wanderings. His father tumbled all night on the creaky old sofa in the living room. His mother was up at least half a dozen times a night, getting water, walking the halls. Sometimes she even came down and peeked in on him. Last night when she'd wandered down, he'd feigned sleep as always, but he watched her through the pillow he'd buried his face in. Her eyes were puffy, and her cheeks glistened with fresh tears.

The sense of family and belonging that Clark had spent so much time worrying about and trying to resurrect in himself lived in those tears. His mother was crying, and he didn't like it. He wanted to help her. Now if he just knew whether he was the problem tearing his parents apart or the glue binding them together? Lying there in his bed, Clark decided to try and be the glue for at least a little while. He hadn't been problematic for them lately. He wasn't a wild teenager, but he hadn't been a very proactive one either.

The new proactive Clark had turned off his mother's alarm before it could wake her when he knew she'd barely slept two hours last night. Then he'd decided to make breakfast, possibly a bad idea. Now his dad either didn't realize he wasn't the only one not sleeping these days, or he didn't understand why his son would get involved. "I turned off her alarm because she didn't sleep well last night. Neither of you guys have been doing much sleeping for quite some time. I figured we could fend for ourselves this morning, and then you could wake her up after I go to school..."_...and maybe you can talk while I'm gone and make up for God's sake. _

The toaster popped and Clark snatched the steamy frosted pastries with his bare hands. He tossed them onto a plate and offered them to his dad. "I already thawed some orange juice."

Martha wasn't sleeping? She didn't have the excuse of a lumpy old couch either. Was that good or bad news? Was she ready to forgive and move forward? A smile tugged at Jonathan's lips despite his situation with Martha. Clark had obviously decided to make it known that he was a member of this family, and he didn't like the way things were. It was almost like old times. "Thanks for breakfast. You had best hurry and eat, or you're going to be late."

"You're welcome." Clark plopped down in front of his already cooling oatmeal, pried his spoon out of the cementing goop, and hesitantly tasted the gray stuff. Butter and cinnamon almost made up for the absolute lack of texture. Maybe he'd overcooked it a bit? "I'll wait for lunch now that I think about it. Wouldn't want to be late."

* * *

Twenty one crystal shot glasses stacked into a pyramid danced with the morning sun scattering light around the otherwise unlit study. As though he were playing Jenga instead of toying with imported Italian glasses, Lex poked at the bottom row of the configuration. Unlike a Jenga tower which can withstand a bit of degradation to its support structure, the crystal pyramid tumbled with the high pitched tinkling of shattering glass.

Lex stared at the pile of worthless Italian shards dispassionately. They still captured the light, but instead of casting their rainbows around the room they created a much confined prickly bastion of rainbow light on his desk.

Leaning back in his desk chair until it creaked and nearly toppled, Lex mentally reviewed his current endeavors, both fact-finding and financial. Unfortunately, it was a short list. Dr. Hamilton was overseeing a variety of experiments at Cadmus Labs, and his inheritance from his mother didn't require daily inspection. Lex found himself missing the job his father had deprived him of. Managing Smallville's ailing fertilizer plant hadn't been his idea of a good time, but it had its uses. Filling the long hours between crises and social engagements was difficult in a one horse town like Smallville.

Commuting to Metropolis and circulating through his old social scene was almost tempting, except that his father was bound to find out. Lionel would love to know how frustrating his latest act in their personal war had been, and Lex refused to give him the satisfaction.

Quite frankly it left a lot of time for special projects like the gradual resurrection of his friendship with Clark. Lex had never actually worked at a friendship before meeting Clark. There were plenty of people willing to befriend a poor lonely billionaire, no effort required. Finding someone he wanted to know, who intrigued him, who might actually be genuine, that was worth the effort. Besides, you couldn't say he hadn't reaped rewards from the relationship. Being alive was nice.

As of yet, Lex hadn't moved forward with his investigation of his valued friend. He had plans and theories, but selecting a discreet inquisitor with unquestionable loyalty was damn near impossible. He'd had what felt like a perfect selection with Jon Fisk. Extortion made for real trust. The man would never have risked his daughter. Well Lex had learned a hard lesson about bluffing a genuine psychic...don't.

Idly Lex rocked out of his chair and started pacing restlessly. Boredom could be a dangerous state of mind if you thought about it. Lex spent too much time thinking, plotting, theorizing. The monotony of it was enough to drive a man mad. He needed to act. Something needed to happen.

"Mr. Luthor?"

His housekeeper, Cynthia, had interrupted his internal tirade, and Lex almost shouted at her angrily for her poor timing. But he caught himself. He'd been grinding his teeth over the monotony of his current situation. Shouting about a break in that monotony didn't make sense. "What is it?"

"You have a visitor, a Mr. Dreyer," Cynthia said. She took a small step backwards as though bracing for an explosion.

When had the help started acting like they were dealing with a particularly prickly grizzly around him? Lex smiled thinly. Maybe he'd been a little moody lately. "Show him in, please." The name Dreyer didn't exactly strike up any personal memories, but Lex knew who his father had placed over the fertilizer plant. Benjamin Dreyer, a real barracuda by all reports, was probably doing Lionel a personal favor with his visit to fertilizer-land. The protracted wait before checking in with the man he'd replaced, that was a not so subtle professional insult.

Dreyer breezed into Lex's office, apparently unaffected by the trappings of wealth meant to intimidate. While Dreyer wasn't particularly tall or broad, he carried himself with a cocky swagger that attempted to command respect. Lex wasn't impressed. He'd met more than his fair share of wealthy educated men with that same aura of superiority. Well, Lex learned disdain at the feet of the master. Dreyer was out of his league if he planned to intimidate with attitude. "Can I help you?"

"Good morning, Mr. Luthor. Forgive me. I should have stopped by far sooner." Technically, he'd been waiting for Lionel to drop by or send word about his purpose in this place. Waiting for a word from Lionel was getting old. Dreyer wasn't so inexperienced that he couldn't recognize a family skirmish when he landed in one. Coming here to pump the puppy-Luthor for information might shed a little light on the particulars of the family quarrel. With a little luck he could get out of Smallville and back to his career without having to abandon the hard won position he'd achieved at Luthor Corp. "It's possible that we could help each other." Judging from the snide smirk Lex didn't bother to suppress, he wasn't impressed with the prospect of help from his replacement.

"I need help from the manager of Smallville Fertilizer?" Lex strolled over to his bar and rummaged around for a glass. He hadn't destroyed them all, had he? "Now, I can understand that you might be looking for help. I can't imagine a worse demotion, Chicago Industrial to Smallville Shit."

Dreyer didn't show a hint of the annoyance Lex's cavalier dismissal sparked. Instead, he selected a seat and made himself comfortable. "You and I both know my transfer wasn't about a demotion. Papa-Luthor was scolding his recalcitrant son, and he involved me by some unknown stroke of cunning and wisdom. Hell, he practically told me I was part of the family with this transfer."

Giving up on finding a glass, Lex crossed his arms over his chest. "But you aren't part of the family, Dreyer. Lionel threw you away, and he might just forget you out here in the boonies. If you weren't concerned, you wouldn't be here nosing around for allies and information."

"Touché, only a fool takes Lionel lightly." Dreyer casually steepled his fingers together and grinned. "I'm no fool, Lex, and neither are you. Why don't you pour me a drink, and we can have a serious conversation about...things."

Lex was tempted to bite, to try sparring with this acolyte of his father, but what was the point? Whatever Dreyer said, he had a purpose known only to himself and Lionel. It was hard to win a game where Lionel made all the rules. Lex started to dismiss his visitor out of hand, but the shimmering mass of glass on his desk caught his attention and he reconsidered. Playing his father's game was a bit more interesting than twiddling his thumbs. "You want to talk so desperately, I'm listening. Say something interesting."

Something interesting? Dreyer's grin widened.

"Have you heard about Lionel's new pet?"

* * *

Behind a gray metal desk Allison Flutey ran a finger over her piles of papers, plans and projects to fill her students' day. She was teaching special topics, a hodgepodge of kids with special needs. She had dyslexics, stutterers, kids who weren't reading at grade level, kids who couldn't handle their basic math. She even had a kid this semester that she was supposed to be helping adjust post-amnesia/kidnapping. An hour a day in special topics wasn't the answer for most of the kids that came her way. The school district was under-funded, understaffed, and they expected her to do her best with the time and resources she had.

Having only one instructor to a half-dozen lesson plans per class, Allison had learned to think outside the box a little. She never lectured to a class. Instead, the students helped each other. She divided them into teams, and they worked on goals she set for them on a weekly basis. Rotating between the small groups, she tried to keep them on track and help when they were stuck. Some of the kids did really well with her system, and others weren't interested. All classes had their underachievers, but with her system, those reluctant students could hinder their partners, so she tried to keep them relegated to their own group. She didn't give up on them, by any means. Those kids ended up maximizing her time most days. She had to stand on their heads to keep them working.

The first grading period was coming to a close, and it was time to dole out some feedback. Unlike most courses, special topics was a pass/fail deal. Attempting the projects she set out was sufficient to get the pass, but Allison liked to review each student's progress and give them some real feedback about how they were doing. She'd spent her weekend putting together the student's feedback reports, but a couple remained incomplete. She'd just not had enough contact with the last two students to give them any meaningful feedback. Francis Gold, a dyslexic, had been in her class since entering middle school and he knew how her system worked. She didn't have to hover to know he was working his exercises, and his partner, Clark Kent, was equally quiet and industrious.

Francis, she knew had improved by leaps and bounds over his first two years, and by all rights he should be on the final stretch with conquering his problem. If daily reading comprehension assignments and weekly writing assignments continued to improve, he could be graduated from special topics. She just needed to talk with him and get an idea for how he was feeling about his reading and writing.

Kent was a different story. The only thing she knew for sure about him came from his placement test, and the gossip mill. Her husband, Bill, told her the kid just needed to get a few things about the world straight in his head, like which color traffic light you stop at and how much you'd reasonably pay for a loaf of bread. Her lesson plan had been simple, read magazines, watch a little television, and write reports on what he was learning. She had six of his reports on file. They were well written, concise, and seemed to show that he was learning something. Of course a conversation would help her evaluate his progress.

Today she'd just have to make time for Francis and Clark.

* * *

"How can you eat that, man?" Pete asked. The cafeteria's beefy noodle surprise was something only a starving man would consider eating, but Clark was shoveling the stuff down like it was great. "I guess the Kent cast-iron stomach rule still stands, you can eat anything. But should you man?"

"Excuse me for being hungry," Clark said between bites. "I skipped breakfast. Besides it's not that bad."

Pete just grimaced and returned his attention to his corned beef sandwich packed safely from home. The silence that settled between them was comfortable, an improvement from the awkward conversations they'd struggled with over the summer. Pete liked to credit the institutional lunch system for the turn around. Male bonding over cafeteria sludge was how they'd founded their friendship in grade school. Things hadn't even changed that much. Clark still ate the stuff, and Pete still gagged over it. "Hey, I saw that you're back on staff at the Torch. How did Chloe rope you into horoscope/lunch menu duty this time?"

Finishing his milk, Clark pushed back his virtually spotless tray. "There was no roping involved. She explained how we need extracurricular activities to get into college, and that the Torch would be a good one for me, and..."_...there just aren't that many things an alien trying to recapture social invisibility should attempt._

"And if you didn't agree to do them, she was going to have to do them herself because the freshmen recruiting campaign didn't go quite as well as planned," Pete added. "She roped you in. Accept it."

"Maybe a little, okay? I don't mind working them up." Pete's knowing looks and comments about roping made Clark more than a little self-conscious. Could Pete tell that he'd had a little crush on their mutual friend for a while now? Chloe was a friend, the best of friends, and Clark wasn't about to mess that up by making her uncomfortable with his mixed up feelings. Well, he wasn't acknowledging his feelings right now, and if he refrained from acknowledging Pete's possible perception of those feelings, everyone would stay happy comfortable friends. "I have to finish some homework. I'll see you tomorrow, Pete."

"Sure, man. You're through being grounded aren't you?" Waiting for Clark's nod, Pete grinned. "I'll call you this afternoon." He sent his trash sailing to the nearest trash bin with an over-handed toss.

Clark carried his trash over for a less showy disposal and headed for his sixth period. It was a little early, but he hadn't been making up an excuse about his incomplete homework. He had a short summary to write before the class was over and he might as well get started. Sixth period, special topics, was little more than a glorified study hall anyway. The teacher, Mrs. Flutey, seemed to be working hard. There was just too much going on at once. They'd hardly even spoken. She brought him magazines stamped discard from the local library and he wrote small summaries of the things he'd picked up from reading them.

The papers Clark turned in were carefully composed to bring out concrete discoveries like the president's name or the location of Walt Disney World. Other more general trends he internalized and judged against his hands-on experiences with humans. For instance, if the magazines were to be believed, all humans were obsessed with clear pores, good sex, and fluffier laundry. Judging from the teenagers he spent his days with, the laundry thing was a concern for later in life.

Sixth period wasn't quite as deserted as Clark had expected. Mrs. Flutey seemed to be in conference with one of his classmates, actually his small group partner, Francis. Rather than barge in, Clark took a seat in the hall by the door. He propped his notebook on his knees and started scribbling a brief summary of the interesting facts he'd discovered from TV over the weekend. Three sentences in, Clark came to the gradual conclusion that he should have watched a little more news and less MTV. Stretching his learning curve to a full page was going to be difficult.

* * *

Damn kids.

That was Mr. Flutey's mantra as he cut his way through Smallville High's crowded halls. The children didn't like him any more than he liked them, and they took every opportunity to get in his way, trip him up, and make his life miserable. Well, he could put up with their shit. He was an adult, and they were by and large idiots at complete mercy to the chemicals in their bodies. Someday when the sex hormones subsided, a few of those kids might grow into productive members of society, maybe. For now they were just malicious pains in his ass, and he didn't have to like them.

The new football coach, Walter Jennings, had summoned him to the field house to find out a few school policies, like exactly how important winning was to this school when athlete grades were concerned. His wife's classroom door was ajar and Flutey poked his head inside to say a quick hello before he had to face the damn athletic types. What he saw stopped him cold. Allison was reading something off a sheet of paper, and she had a student entranced. Jaw slack, the kid was practically drooling. He looked like he might fall out of his desk any second. "Not again," Flutey whispered. "Allison!"

"Bill, what is it?" Mrs. Flutey gasped. She dropped her sheet of paper and tossed Francis an apologetic look. But Francis didn't appear to have been listening to her anyway. She half-expected a snore to rumble out of his nose. "Francis?"

"Allison, I'll take care of him. They need you in the band hall. A girl is hysterical, one of your students. You need to hurry," Mr. Flutey commanded.

"Which girl?" Mrs. Flutey asked, already rising. "Is it Amber?"

"I think so. Now hurry." Once his wife was safely out the door, Mr. Flutey headed straight for the drooler, Francis. The diversion he'd invented to keep his wife out of the way wouldn't last long, ten or fifteen minutes at best. This kid had to be awake by the time she came back. "Francis Gold." Mr. Flutey took the kid by the shoulders and shook hard. His head lolled loosely, and when Flutey let go he slumped forward over his desk like a rag doll. "Shit. You wake up, you little shit-head. You wake up."

Pushing Francis back into an upright position with one hand, Flutey used his free hand to slap Francis's face as hard as he could. "Wake up. Wake up. Wake up." Punctuating each word with a slap, until his hand was throbbing, Flutey could feel tears pricking at his eyes. If it happened again, there wouldn't be any coving it up. People would figure it all out. Jesus Christ, this kid had to wake up.

"What are you doing to him?"

Flutey let go of Francis as though he'd been burned. Another student, Clark Kent, was standing in the doorway, staring. How much had he seen? Without Flutey holding him upright, Francis slumped again, this time falling completely out of his seat and into the floor.

Clark had managed to work without paying attention to the kids in the hall, talking and clowning, but Mr. Flutey slapping another student was a little harder to ignore. The way he'd been cursing and carrying on, the man seemed almost...nuts? Maybe it was just him? Maybe this was something else he'd forgotten, or maybe he was just misinterpreting what he'd heard? Francis moaned pitifully from the floor, and Clark headed that way. The kid had red marks coming up on his cheeks and he seemed completely disoriented. If this was acceptable human guidance counselor behavior, in his alien opinion it sucked.

Thank you God, Flutey prayed silently at the noises from the drooler. "Kid passed out. I was trying to revive him," Flutey said. "Clark, right? Help me get him to the nurses' office."

Those slaps had seemed well beyond friendly wake-up taps, but Clark kept his critique to himself. Mr. Flutey wasn't very pleasant and he didn't take comments of any kind from students well. Clark helped get Francis to his feet, and focused his attention on the kid leaning heavily against him. "Are you okay, buddy?" Francis blinked confusedly at him and moaned again hollowly.

"You're going to be fine, Gold," Mr. Flutey affirmed. He wasn't just lying to try and make the kid feel better either. No one who regained consciousness had ever suffered any permanent affects after discovering their sensitivity to his wife's affliction. "A couple of hours in a dark room and you'll be fine." Alone time with the missus was guaranteed to bring any truly sensitive shit-heads out of the closet.

They managed to get Francis to the nurse's exam room and onto a bed. He still hadn't said anything, and Clark thought maybe they should call someone, a doctor maybe? The kid couldn't get a word out of his mouth or take a step on his own. "Want me to have the office call his parents or something?"

"I'll handle it," Mr. Flutey said. "You need to head to your sixth period." With Clark safely gone, Flutey sank down into a chair by Francis's bedside. He'd have to hurry if he was going to explain things to the nurse and intercept his wife before she made it back from the wild goose chase he'd sent her on. "Gold, you hear me?"

"Shut up," Francis managed to mutter after a long pause. "Hurts."

Flutey nodded to the squinting teenager. A couple of hours in a dark room, he told himself, everything would be fine. Sighing, Flutey abandoned his seat and shut the lights off on his way out the door. He fed the school nurse a load of crap about a kid with a migraine, and headed back toward his wife's classroom. He caught her power walking her way back to class. She didn't look very happy with him. "Allison, I'm sorry. I just found out it was prank. There wasn't a girl...I'm so sorry."

Mrs. Flutey stopped long enough to drop a kiss on her husband's cheek. "It's okay. I know the kids can be a little hard on you." The fact that they were returning the disdain and anger he showed them, wasn't something Mrs. Flutey tried to correct in her mate. He had his reasons, and he refused to discuss the matter. "Was the Gold boy okay? He seemed a little out of it. It isn't like him to nap on me like that."

Flutey nodded his expression warming toward the person he protected and loved in this world. "He had a migraine I believe. I sent him to the nurse."

"That's too bad." So much for a thorough interview today, Francis would just have to make do with a substandard progress report. "Well, I'll see you round about four then." Mrs. Flutey made haste for her sixth period. She didn't have enough time with the kids as it was. Wasting their hour in the hall wasn't an option.

"I love you," Mr. Flutey mouthed after his wife had already gone. He lingered a long moment in the now quiet hall and breathed a shuddering sigh of relief. They had dodged another bullet, and God bless her, Allison still had no idea what was happening.

* * *

Back in sixth period, Clark tried to reconcile the incident between Francis and Mr. Flutey in his head. The whole situation felt wrong, but Clark didn't trust himself to make the snap decision about what was appropriate. Brain-damage-boy was in special topics for a reason after all. According to the school's plan, he was supposed to ask Mrs. Flutey about things that confused him. He just couldn't see himself questioning the woman about her husband. Technically he could ask his parents or Chloe or Pete to explain the situation to him. That would mean admitting the functional literacy deficit that had him doubting his gut feeling, and he hadn't come clean about that to anyone.

It wasn't that he was ashamed, Clark reasoned. He just didn't want them to know.

On cue, Mrs. Flutey breezed through the door. The shortish lady was a burst of energy. Wasting no time on taking roll, she gathered a thick stack of papers Clark recognized as their weekly lesson plans. She roamed through the groups collecting assignments and in some cases excuses in exchange for their new week's goals. She could switch gears easily between the diverse packs of challenged students. Clark wasn't very enthusiastic about landing in special topics, but it was almost worth it to watch Mrs. Flutey pull off teaching the class.

Her last stop today was Clark's non-group. With Francis at the nurses' station he was technically on his own. Mrs. Flutey held out her hand for his assignment, and Clark winced at the less than half-filled page he'd scribbled in the hall. The standing assignment required a full page, and he'd have bullshitted his way to that if Mr. Flutey hadn't interrupted him. "I know it's supposed to be longer, sorry," Clark said. Your husband needed help after abusing my classmate.

"Hey, no problem, it just means you're catching up to the learning curve I imagine. You're getting less new information out of similar observation times," Mrs. Flutey said. She scanned down the paper and noted the abrupt ending, mid-sentence. "Or you didn't get a chance to finish it before coming to class?"

"Sorry again, I would have finished it, but I got distracted," Clark said.

Mrs. Flutey didn't seem overly angry. She rolled his assignment up and bopped him lightly over the head with it. "Do better next time, and stay for a minute after class. Don't look so stricken either. I'm not planning a punishment. I just want to have a quick question answer session. Alright?"

* * *

The tangy aroma of Italian spices wafted under Martha's bedroom door. It crept across the floor and tantalized the sleeping woman from her dreams. Martha blinked slowly enjoying the aroma until the implications of that particular odor hit home. Sitting up in bed Martha snatched up her alarm clock. Quarter after two? The orangey afternoon sun spilling across the hardwood floor verified her clock's report. How had she slept all day? Why hadn't her alarm gone off?

Martha rolled out of bed and scampered to her closet throwing on the first clothes that came to her hand. There were things she was supposed to do today. There was grass to be hoed, herbs to be cut, meals to be cooked. Someone should have woken her. Was she the only person in this family thinking straight? Jonathan knew better than to let her sleep all day. Of course it didn't pay to make assumptions when it came to what Jonathan knew better than to do. Sometimes he went off on wild tares and locked alien rocks in boxes without consulting anyone.

With an exhausted sigh, Martha took a seat on the edge of her bed. There wasn't any steam left in her over Jonathan's betrayal. She couldn't stay mad at him when she knew how hard he was fighting to keep their family together. But at the same time she wasn't going to apologize to him, when he'd screwed up. If things were going to get back to normal, Jonathan was going to have to suck it up and admit he was wrong. She would not be coming to him with an olive branch.

Her resolution reaffirmed, Martha headed downstairs to speak with Jonathan. They had a few minutes before Clark would be home from school. Martha peeked into the kitchen without announcing her arrival. The place was a complete mess. Every dish she owned seemed to be either on a counter or piled in the sink. Jonathan was sliding a pan of wheat rolls into the oven while a red sauce simmered over on the stove.

"Do you need a hand?" Martha was already halfway to the stove to rescue Jonathan's mystery sauce before asking his permission to jump in. "You know, in the future, if I sleep in, you can wake me up. Tell me you got Clark off to school with at least a Pop-Tart?"

"I had a Pop-Tart. Clark went with the oatmeal," Jonathan said. He turned to Martha, unaware of the flour on the tip of his nose. "I couldn't get your pasta machine to work, so I was going to go with regular old parade brand egg noodles, but I couldn't find any in the pantry. You woke up just in time to save dinner."

Tomato sauce with egg noodles? What was Jonathan trying to cook? "You couldn't find any store bought noodles because I don't have any, and you had better not have broken my pasta machine. What are you cooking anyway?" After reducing the heat, a couple of quick stirs had the sauce simmering more sedately.

"Marinara surprise," Jonathan said. He smiled and though she was obviously fighting the urge, Martha couldn't contain a twitch of a smile in return. "Anyway, I can turn dinner over to you, or you can show me how to work this pasta machine."

"I wouldn't know where to begin with marinara surprise, but I can show you the secret to the pasta machine." Martha wasn't thinking about an olive branches or blame when Jonathan stepped in close to watch her demonstrate noodle production. She could hear her voice, so composed and crisp, but more importantly she could smell Jonathan, feel his almost touch at her back. His warm breath slid past her neck, and Martha wasn't explaining about pasta anymore. God but she'd missed this, missed him.

"I'm sorry," Jonathan whispered.

It wasn't the sweeping apology Martha had envisioned weeks ago, but she believed it. Jonathan was sorry, if only for hurting her. And his hands were on her caressing her shoulders, pulling her to him. Martha didn't fight the embrace. She was tired of fighting.

Lola was gone, Clark was fine, and Martha was ready to let the whole thing die.

* * *

Chloe had long since missed the bus when she finally locked the Torch offices for the evening. It was unlikely that football practice would be over yet, so a ride home with Pete would require more waiting. The weather outside was pleasant enough, early fall cool, and Chloe decided to walk home. She had her sensible shoes on today, and it wasn't that far.

The halls were quiet but not deserted. Teachers lingered in some of the classrooms and the Spanish club could be heard babbling in disjointed phrases from their end of the hall. Outside on the quad, things were a bit livelier with an attack Frisbee game getting underway. Chloe watched the teams execute a couple of tosses before she noticed the game's other spectator. He wasn't looking her way, but she didn't have any trouble recognizing him. Standing just in the afternoon sun, Clark leaned against the red brick wall of the schoolhouse.

Instead of shoving the heavy double doors open and greeting him, Chloe held back and studied her friend. Watching the sun play over his dark hair, Chloe had no problems convincing herself he was an alien. Humans weren't so ethereal, so perfect. His red t-shirt stretched across broad shoulders just hinting at the sea of muscles over his back. Chloe sighed at her own mooning. It wasn't exactly her style to stand around staring at her crushes, but she hadn't seen Clark in days. When they'd been in the same grade, they saw a lot of each other at school. The freshman classes were clustered together and you couldn't escape your classmates. Today, like most days this year, she hadn't had even one random-Clark-encounter.

Before she got caught staring, Chloe pushed the door open to join Clark. It wasn't like him to hang around school so late. Normally he would have been at home hours ago to start his chores. Clark wasn't grounded anymore, and it was nice to see him mixing things up a little instead of following a rote formula to his days. Confusion wasn't a daily part of his life these days, and it was time he started acting like the independent almost-adult that he was.

"Hey, Clark," Chloe said. She strolled over and tried watching the game. "Thinking about taking up Frisbee? These guys seem to be playing it a little seriously."

"Not really." Clark looked her way, but didn't smile. "Hey, Chloe, I was actually waiting for you." He offered her a folded sheet of paper.

Clark was waiting for her? Chloe accepted the paper, her mind buzzing a bit with possibilities. Their relationship was all about platonic friendship. Chloe, coward that she was, had made sure of that. Maybe Clark had different ideas? Maybe? Chloe flipped open the sheet of paper and frowned at the bright red F staring back at her. Not a love letter then, Chloe thought. "You failed an algebra quiz? I'm not the person to ask for help with that subject."

"No, I'm just the person to ask though," Clark said. "I love math. I make A's in Algebra without studying. Chloe, I own that class."

"Apparently, not this quiz." Chloe regretted the quip the moment it was out of her mouth. Clark was very sensitive when it came to his brain's functionality, and if he said he owned algebra, he didn't need her poking fun at him. Clark didn't say anything for a long moment, and Chloe opened her mouth to apologize.

"You don't understand," Clark said. He'd spent a lot of time and energy trying to function normally. With his history, people might not believe what he'd discovered today. They'd think he was trying to excuse a bad grade, or maybe they'd just think he was crazy. He hoped Chloe would believe him. Maybe he was expecting too much of her, but he couldn't help himself. She had to believe him. "I'm not sure about the hows or the whys, and I can't prove what I'm thinking, but Chloe, I swear I'm not imagining this. My teacher is a meteor mutant."

* * *

Alone with his last surviving shot glass Lex watched the evening light shimmer through the exquisite crystal. He wasn't drinking tonight. Drinking was a disadvantage he couldn't afford these days. His father had a new pet after all; a pet Lex hadn't been able to hold onto himself. The smug snake Drejer had been sure of his information's value, sure that Lex would want to know about his father's acquisition, Jason Fisk.

You couldn't bluff a psychic like Fisk, but as Lex well knew, Lionel Luthor didn't bother with bluffs. Somehow he'd discovered his son's interest in Fisk, and now Lionel had a tool Lex wouldn't want in the hands of his best friend, much less his father.

The thought of someone sifting through his thoughts and motivations left Lex coolly angry. Sure, he'd been planning the same fate for Clark and later his father but Lex's motivations had been if not perfectly pure, at least positive. He had just wanted the truth. He had just wanted to keep things under control.

Lionel had Fisk now...how could things get more out of control...


	45. Chapter 13 Tag Team

**- Chapter 13 - Tag Team -**

Oblivious to the play by play of the game of attack Frisbee unfolding in front of her, Chloe listened to Clark stumble through an explanation of his algebra failure. "So, let me get this straight, your teacher, Mrs. Flutey, is draining the brains of her students? You know this because Francis, another freshman, had a migraine, and you failed an algebra quiz?" Chloe asked. She wasn't trying to give Clark a hard time, but his logic seemed a little sketchy. He didn't need to convince her that meteor mutants were real, but this Mrs. Flutey thing sounded like it needed more investigating. The lady was practically a saint. Her students that didn't worship her at the very least respected her. She'd even been elected star teacher the year before.

"I'm not explaining this well," Clark said. And he wasn't explaining it well. He still felt a little sluggish and thick headed. Downgraded from DSL to a 25K modem, his brain felt approximately two mouse clicks from a crash. "I know she's draining her students. I could feel it." Not for the first time since her silence began, Clark wished he had Lola to confide in and ask for help. She was the one teaching him to be aware of the energy in him. She opened his eyes to its flow and rhythm. And like the good friend she was, she left...

_I don't need her._

Clark could feel the muscles in his jaw tightening with his resolve. He and Chloe and maybe even Pete could handle a meteor mutant. He didn't need Lola to understand. Chloe was going to understand, if he could just explain it. "When it was a whole class I didn't feel it. After class though, we met one on one. She was taking energy, very specific energy, mind energy. I FELT it Chloe." Clark unrolled the algebra quiz in his fist and pointed to his shakily scribbled name. "It took me ten minutes to get my name on the paper after my meeting with Mrs. Flutey. Francis collapsed after his student-teacher conference. I don't know how else to explain this, but she IS a mutant."

"Okay." Chloe simply nodded. "I believe you. We need tangible proof though. One migraine and a failing grade aren't going to stand up to scrutiny, and you can't just explain to the authorities that you're an alien and you can feel these things. I'll start a background search on the Flutey's, and you don't be alone with her anymore if you can help it."

"Alone with her? I'm not going back to that class," Clark said. "My brain is banged up enough. Mrs. Flutey doesn't get to exacerbate things."

Chloe nodded again. Clark seemed to be getting clearer and more articulate the longer they talked, like maybe he was recovering from a brain whammy of some kind. "I assume that means you're going to be cutting fifth period until we resolve this? That could be the wrong move. You say whatever she does isn't really noticeable in a classroom full of kids. If you start cutting, she's going to start looking for you for more one-on-one time. It might be safer to just go to class where her brain-whammy is diluted."

"Diluted or not, I'm not going near that woman again," Clark said. "I could hardly write my name. Mrs. Flutey is not getting another shot at me."

Chloe could see how scared Clark was, pale and taunt more like a defenseless kid than the indestructible alien he was. But Chloe could understand why he might feel like the kid instead of the super-alien. He had spent a lot of time feeling broken since getting home. The idea of losing any more of himself had to be unsettling. And then Chloe was afraid for Clark, not because Mrs. Flutey might be a dangerous meteor mutant, but because she might not be. If Mrs. Flutey wasn't a meteor mutant, maybe this was Clark's old injury and maybe instead of getting better it had taken a turn for the worse?

No, this was Mrs. Flutey like Clark said. A mutant could be handled whereas alien brain injuries had to be lived with. "What are you going to do?" Chloe asked. "Are you going to tell your parents what happened?"

"You think I should?" Clark asked. Deciding to tell Chloe had been easy. He trusted her and knew she'd trust him enough to believe him. Did his parents have that kind of faith in him? Maybe it was time to find out. "I guess I should."

* * *

A pack of football players breezed into the Talon and made a beeline for one of the larger booths. Not a quarterback or first stringer among them, they were affectionately known as the bench-warmers. The shortest of the lot, Pete Ross, stood at the center of the group talking and laughing. "Guys, I'll catch up all right," Pete said. He veered away from his football buddies and headed to the counter where Lana was loading a tray with caffeinated beverages for one of her waitresses. "Hey girl, how are you?"

"I'm a little busy but okay," Lana said. "I've seen you with the jock crowd a lot more lately. How is the football team looking this year?"

Unlike Clark, who had always faltered when Lana looked him in the eyes, Pete kept his composure through the rush of hormones she elicited. Her hair was different, he thought absently. Layered and more sophisticated, Lana wore the new hairstyle with the easy grace she always seemed to ooze, even when they were little kids. "Well, I lost Clark to the freshman class, and Chloe has been pretty scarce this year. I've had to expand my social circle or become a loner. And the team's looking okay. We don't have a Whitney Fordman, but there's a really impressive freshman that I think the coach is grooming for next year." Pete stopped the football talk before Lana could get too bored. She hadn't actually been to a football game since giving up cheerleading. Whitney hadn't even been able to draw her back to that arena.

Lana smiled politely and tucked one of her feathered black locks behind her ear. Clark didn't want her anymore, Pete reassured himself. After spending a few weeks really getting to know the new Clark, he understood that Lana-dream-girl was dead for him. At best, she was a stranger, and at worst, she reminded him of the Eradicator, his personal tormentor. Pete bit down on the inside of his lip, struggling with a moment's indecision. Friends did not go after the same women, but asking Lana out wasn't betraying Clark, not anymore.

With Clark's lost interest and Whitney's departure, Lana was alone. Granted, she could snap her fingers and have any man in the school, but she hadn't jumped on any of the offers that had come her way. Did she have any inkling that another offer was coming her way today? Was he destined to join those other hopefuls in Lana's beau-graveyard? Pete could feel his heart thudding an ever faster rhythm and he pushed forward. If he didn't get this question out, he was going to have a coronary. "You know homecoming is coming up in a few weeks, and I was wondering if you'd like to be my date for the dance."

Pausing with a cup half-way to the tray in front of her, Lana seemed shocked. Was shock good or bad? Pete began to feel stupid as the silent moment drew out seemingly to infinity. She had to be trying to think of a polite way to say Hell no.

"I think I'd like that, Pete," Lana finally said. Post-Whitney, she had had her share of offers, potential rebound guys, but she hadn't been interested. One too many normal guys that showed interest in her turned out to be psychotic stalker mutants. It just wasn't worth the effort or the risk to start a new relationship right now. Pete was different though. He wasn't quite anonymous enough to feel vaguely threatening like the other offers had, but she had never really looked at him as anything more than an easy-going dependable friend. They hadn't even been that close before Clark disappeared, and everything changed. Now, Clark didn't look at her like he used to, the soulful stares from afar that used to make her feel suffocated and nervous had been replaced with an oblivious indifference that stung her heart, and honestly, her pride. Clark didn't love her now, if he ever had.

And Pete...was safe.

* * *

The kitchen was decimated.

Over the few months that he could remember living with the Kents, Clark had never seen any room in the level of disorder he found their kitchen in. Dirty dishes stood sentry across the counter and in the sink rising as lopsided towers. A fine film of flour settled over the table and in patches on the linoleum. There were footprints in the flour, the pronounced ridged pattern of work-boots and a small flat soled shoe that had to belong to his mother.

What could have happened? Had his parents fought in the kitchen? Had his morning interference made things worse?

And then Clark caught sight of the flour smeared shirt dangling from one of the bar stools. His dad's shirt? Holding the garment, Clark headed into the foyer where he tripped over one of those flour dusted work-boots. A trail of clothes and shoes ascended the stairs. He had followed that trail of clothes half-way up the stairs before it hit him. His parents hadn't fought. They made up.

They might still be making up.

Beating a quiet retreat back to the kitchen, Clark couldn't help smiling even after the terrible day he'd had. Maybe he was good at being part of this family after all. He couldn't quite imagine how wrecking the kitchen had figured in to fixing his parents' problems, but Clark sped through a cleanup so his parents wouldn't have to deal with it when they finished making up.

Settling the last clean bowl into a cabinet, Clark surveyed his handiwork. He'd spared the pot of cold sauce on the stove and the bowl of dough on the cutting board, but everything else was back in its place, not bad for thirty-five seconds of work.

Clark spent a moment happily basking in his successful meddling from the morning before thoughts of Mrs. Flutey and her effect on him intruded to chill his mood. He'd come home to share his discovery and his fear with his parents, people he was supposed to be able to trust and to turn to. Chloe thought telling his parents was a good idea, and maybe it was, but when his mother and father finally made it downstairs, he couldn't figure out how to start.

Jonathan and Martha didn't notice him at first. Their focus was on each other, hands linked, faces inclined toward one another. They might have kissed if Martha hadn't spotted her son at the kitchen table. "Clark, when did you get home?" she asked. Her wall clock read nearly five thirty and she flinched. He'd probably been home for hours, long enough to clean the kitchen anyway.

"You didn't have to clean up, but thanks," Jonathan said. He surveyed the sparkling kitchen and grinned. Cleaning the mess he'd somehow managed to make of the place hadn't been something he'd been looking forward to. He hoped his smile communicated some of the gratitude he felt to Clark, and not just for the kitchen. His son had done his best to make his parents face each other, and the worst was finally behind them. Jonathan snatched the apron off its peg and tied himself in. "I'm going to finish dinner now ladies and gentlemen, so get out of my kitchen."

Clark latched onto the excuse the reconciliation offered, and decided to hold onto his news about Mrs. Flutey until dinner. His parents deserved a few minutes of peace, and he hadn't decided that JUST because he was terrified to really talk with them. "You're welcome. Cleaning it didn't take that long. You know me." He followed his mother as far as the living room, already phrasing and rephrasing his explanation.

"You missed a spot," Martha said. She licked her thumb and cleaned a glob of four off Clark's nose. It was almost the same spot Jonathan had floured on himself while trashing the kitchen. The slightly annoyed that-is-so-gross wince that crossed Clark's face froze for a fraction of a second and then he smiled. "What? Mother's spit is a time honored cleaning solvent."

"No...I know..." Clark hadn't come running to his parents every time a little fragment of his memory clicked back into place. Most of the time the recollections were so inconsequential, he'd have felt stupid. This one would make his mother happy. He knew it. That warm wet glob of spit had opened another winding pathway in his memories. He remembered flashes of moments in his childhood, in the truck, in the grocery store, standing on the porch, getting the spit treatment for quick cleanup. "I just remembered something. It's stupid, but you used to do that a lot didn't you? Spit polish me?"

Martha returned Clark's shy smile with a beaming one of her own. Her baby remembered? "All the time. You were a messy little guy. I tried to stop after you got taller than me. But sometimes the mother instincts are too much."

"Mom, would you like to hear about my day?" Instead of feeling nervous to tell his mother about Mrs. Flutey, Clark really wanted her to know suddenly. He knew she'd want to know, and she'd believe him. She'd be sad to know he had considered not telling her, that he'd been nervous to tell her. The grinding howl of a tiny two cycle motor screaming in its death throes erupted from the kitchen before Clark could carry through with his decision.

"My pasta machine," Martha gasped. "Your father is hopeless sometimes." She took Clark by the hand and pulled him toward the kitchen. "We can talk while I defend my appliances."

Clark laughed at his mother as she chased Jonathan away from her pasta machine. He soaked in the banter and the intimacy in their stares and the way they touched. It was good to have his family back to normal, well as normal as he'd ever known it to be.

Watching his parents, Clark changed his mind again. Nothing was going to ruin their evening tonight. They could hear about his problems tomorrow. Mrs. Flutey would keep that long.

* * *

Luci thought her heart was going to beat out of her chest as she paced the width of their living quarters. Onlea was back and having a talk with Reo. The ship was moving again, off to Earth according to Ford. Earth? Luci frowned worriedly, her short orange hair bouncing along with her steps. Her English wasn't ready for an alien world. Who knew what Onlea expected of them?

Luci stopped pacing and scooted in front of her brother the moment the door to their room started to cycle open. "Let me do the talking," she commanded Ford. Taking the uninterrupted tapping at her brother's keypad as acquiescence, Luci locked her hands together in front of her to try and keep from fidgeting. Her memory of Onlea, the woman who saved them was hazy and indistinct. Luci could remember the lady being pretty and tall and a little scary. The woman standing in their door fit that bill and more. Luci didn't trust the smile curling on Onlea's lips. She took an involuntary step back toward her brother.

The Eradicator didn't have to lock her hands or worry about whether she'd inadvertently fidget, but she was at least as apprehensive as Luci about their meeting. Her creators had seen fit to program a variety of social-type modes into her memory to allow for seamless integration into society when necessary. Unfortunately, mother wasn't a mode anyone foresaw a need to provide. Without a template to follow for dealing with the orphaned children she'd had to build one from her considerable observational experience. She had dressed the part, trading her skin tight black flight suit for a soft loose-fitting cream jumpsuit. Her long black locks were captured in a matronly twist. All she was missing were the ovaries, if she did say so herself.

The crowning achievement to the mother template had to be the smile. She'd worked on that smile for weeks. The Eradicator moved forward selling her mother-mode smile.

Safe.

Calm.

Reassuring.

Oh well, judging from the wide-eyed terror in Luci's eyes and her accelerating heart rate, she wasn't feeling very safe, calm, or reassured. "It is going to be okay. You don't have to be afraid. Reo says you've been studying hard and your English is coming along."

"Yes. We've been studying very hard, thank you." Luci could still hear her brother tapping at his keypad, still ignoring the situation. He was like a little robot. Wasn't he afraid?

"I've come to talk to you today about where we're going and what we'll be doing when we get there. It's time you knew how very special you are," the Eradicator said. Luci wasn't showing any sign of calming down, but at least Ford wasn't terrified. His heart rate hadn't shifted cadence once. Taking a seat on one of the children's beds, the Eradicator didn't force physical proximity on them. She caught Luci's frightened stare with her own and began her pitch, edited for a children's audience. "There once was a race that personified strength and intelligence and grace. They fought to preserve peace. They ruled to pull lesser races up. They were the pinnacle of society. Their world was Krypton, their race Kryptonian.

"Then one day, through no fault of their own, a natural disaster destroyed them, wiped them away. The galaxy was saddened by the tragedy and they mourned the loss of their protectors. But even as sad as they were, the other races hoped that all might not be lost. They awoke an ancient champion and sent her to search the universe for a Kryptonian." The Eradicator paused for a moment to gauge her audience. The young boy had stopped typing and Luci's heart rate had slowed considerably. Her soft-pitched mother-voice was going over much better than the mother-smile if the children's reaction was anything to judge by.

"The champion searched for years without losing hope or heart, until finally she found the last Kryptonian. He was living on a planet called Earth, and he didn't know who he was. Like a giant trying to fit in amongst the tiniest of pigmies, he crouched low. He restrained himself, hiding his gifts and his light, and all the Earthlings believed him to be small like themselves, and they didn't look twice at the alien among them.

"But the champion saw what no one else could see. The champion saw the giant among the pygmies, but she could not make him stand straight. Her Kryptonian had lived among Earthlings so long that he had come to love them. He wanted to live among them not above them.

"After the years of searching and hoping, the champion would not accept her Kryptonian's plea to be left alone. She tore her Kryptonian from his home and forced him back to the stars. She paid no heed to his tears or his pain. The champion made a horrible mistake." The Eradicator paused again, certain now that she had the children's undivided attention.

"True, the races who had sent the champion out searching rejoiced at her success and readily embraced the last of the Kryptonians. They held him up elevating him to their highest office where he could rule over them as it had always been. Because he was the last, they created a copy of his mind, imprinting it into an eternal seat of power. Through that seat Krypton might live forever, but it wasn't real. The grace and the beauty and the heart were missing from the copy. He had only his mind and a painful bitterness at his lost life. Blind to the hollowness of their copy and satisfied with the eternity of peace it promised, the other races were ready to allow the original, the real Kryptonian to die. In making their copy, they had damaged him, and they had no use for a broken boy.

"The champion only realized her error at the last moment before all would have been lost. She saved the Kryptonian boy and nursed him back to health. In contrition she returned the boy to Earth, the world he loved so well, and she returned to the stars with a new purpose, a new hope." The Eradicator smiled broadly then, hoping that the children would accept the fairy-tale historical accounting and embrace the role she'd envisioned for them. "I was that champion, and you are my hope. Eternity will not be found in a perfect copy of one man. Krypton can live but only through you and the boy on Earth. He will need children, and children need mothers." Rather than scare the children with talk about genetic diversity and careful crossbreeding, the Eradicator tried to simplify and romanticize the situation a bit. Had she succeeded though? "Will you help me save Krypton from oblivion?"

Luci didn't know what to say or to do. She was just a kid, hardly mother material. Honestly, she wasn't completely clear on how babies came into being. She knew there was a mother and a father, but the mechanics of the situation wasn't something she'd been instructed in. "Why us? We're just kids. And Ford can't be a mother. Couldn't you just find someone else?"

"Why you? Because you each hold a piece of Krypton inside you, inherited from your mother, and every piece of Krypton no matter how small is precious. Yes, you're still children, but you, Luci, are cusping on the brink of adulthood." The Eradicator could tell that Luci wasn't convinced, and Ford, well he hadn't notably responded to anything she'd said or done. Judging by the clicking sound, he'd resumed typing at his workstation. She focused on Luci, her receptive audience. "Would you like to see him, the Kryptonian boy?"

The word, no, froze unuttered on Luci's lips. Onlea activated one of the wall screens with an image from the ship's memory. Luci had grown up on a world where the only people even close to her physical norm were her parents and her brother. This boy, her first boy, was stunning. Onlea's simple description about beauty and grace didn't begin to encompass the dark-haired blue-eyed work of art staring out at her. There was the faintest hint of a smile about his lips and his clothes fell in graceful lines that spoke volumes about the arcs of muscles they concealed. "He wouldn't want me," Luci muttered. "I'm just a kid."

The Eradicator's smile widened. Then Luci must want him at least a little? "You are growing into a lovely girl. You haven't seen a human yet. Within two years, he won't be able to look away."

Ford listened to Onlea spin her simple tale for his and his sister's benefit. He watched the two of them out of the corner of his eye. Luci wasn't just listening. She was believing, trusting. She wasn't thinking. Onlea wanted them to go to Earth and help produce babies for the rest of their lives? Like his sister, Ford didn't know exactly how that was done, but he imagined it wasn't pleasant. It was a good thing he was thinking. Ford turned back to his manifesto with renewed energy. They definitely needed a way to get out of Onlea's plans when they got to Earth, and he very nearly had it all figured out.


	46. Chapter 14 Vindicated

**- Chapter 14 - Vindicated -**

Nursing her fifth cup of coffee, Chloe leaned forward toward her computer monitor to scan the timeline she'd been building since yesterday afternoon. In all honesty the bits of info she'd found couldn't quite be called a smoking gun, but Clark's theory about Mrs. Flutey seemed more plausible now that she had it all laid out in a Word document.

"Okay, I'm giving up my lunch break for this so spill it. What's the big scoop you wanted to share with me?" Pete asked. He breezed over and slid into the seat next to her.

Chloe snorted and passed Pete a copy of the timeline she'd written. "Don't even talk to me about missing one measly lunch. I got three hours of sleep last night. This research doesn't do itself you know."

"You want pity? I didn't hold a gun to your head and make you research..." Pete stopped to skim the page Chloe had given him. "Allison Flutey? Isn't she the special ed teacher or something? Is there a scandal brewing in the land of diminished capacity?"

"Nice, Pete. Try and be a little more tactful when Clark gets here. It's special topics, and don't use that phase, diminished capacity. It has negative connotations." Before Chloe could tactfully explain to Pete that Clark was enrolled in special topics for the semester, said alien had arrived. After her scolding maybe Pete would have to good sense to keep the special-ed jokes to a minimum. "Finally, my audience is complete. Sit and listen gentlemen."

Sliding into the seat beside Pete, Clark started skimming the timeline over his shoulder. "Did you find proof that I was right? Can we prove she's a mutant?"

"Not quite yet," Chloe said. "But we have some highly suspicious coincidences. Follow the timeline, boys. In fall of 98' we have a car accident that leaves Mrs. Flutey in a vegetative state. The accident was caused by one of her students, one Howie Matthews. He was drunk."

"She obviously didn't stay vegetative, but that doesn't make her a mutant. Where is this witch hunt thing coming from?" Pete asked. "What did Mrs. Flutey do to sic the Torch-mutant-squad on her?"

"Wait for it," Chloe said. "Mrs. Flutey did recover in late 99' and was back teaching by 2000. The coincidence that is stinking up this timeline is what happened to little Howie Matthews. Instead of a couple of years in juvenile detention, he's in a long term care facility in Metropolis, in a coma. He dropped into his coma inexplicably on November 6, 1999, the exact day Mrs. Flutey is supposed to have made her miraculous recovery."

"I was right," Clark said. "I told you she was a mutant. She brain-drained that other kid, Howie, just like she does her students every day. She's a brain vampire. It's how she stays cognizant."

"Come on," Pete said. "She's the special ed teacher. How can you even tell if she's brain draining that crowd?"

Oh lord, Chloe thought. She could see practically see Clark bristling inside though he made no show of it externally. "Pete, there's a difference between brain dead and dyslexic. You can tell what she's doing, but only really when she gets a student alone for a significant period. Francis Gold went pseudo-brain-dead yesterday after his student teacher conference. Clark witnessed it."

"Who is Francis Gold?" Pete asked. "I mean, sure I bet Clark found this kid zoning out in his student teacher conference, but he's probably just slow. It's special ed."

Chloe winced, and gestured at Pete to shush before he burned every inroad he'd made with Clark over the last few weeks. "If you can't see the pattern, Pete, maybe I overestimated your intelligence."

Clark had been so certain that his friends and parents would think he was more damaged than they already did if they found out about him failing the functional literacy test. He'd been ashamed to take the special topics class, ashamed of the deficiency it implied. Now that one of his friends was running down another member of the special topics class, Clark didn't feel ashamed anymore. He felt protective and indignant and a little angry. "Francis isn't slow. He has a learning disability. If everyone in special topics is automatically brain dead, I guess I'm screwed since I've been in there all semester."

Pete collapsed back against his seat back, sighing. "I'm sorry," Pete said. "Why would they even put you in that class?" Gesturing ineffectually, he couldn't find the words to undig the hole he'd created with the situation. Chloe should have warned him, if she knew Clark had been schlepping his way through the special ed class. She just stood there and winced and dropped hints and let him offend his best friend. Didn't she know how overly sensitive Clark was these days?

"It's okay, Pete," Clark said. "Chloe told me that this mutant was going to be a hard sell to most people, and I see why. The stigma of special-ed, brain dead until proven otherwise, it's the perfect cover for a brain vampire."

No angry accusations? No blow up? Pete had gotten in more trouble for trying to help Clark, than calling him brain dead. "You really think this woman is draining the brains of her students. What are we going to do about it? Can you imagine trying to sell this to the sheriff?"

Chloe was smiling, the smile of a girl who is used to dealing with the mutants without the usual authorities. "I'm working on an article for the Torch now. Clark is skipping special topics. I think we should start interviewing her students, maybe visit Howie in the hospital. We have a skeleton of a story, a guide to the truth. Now we just have to build a real case. There's not much else we can do, but there's power in the truth."

"I think we should confront her. She's using her students, today, right now, every day. She acts like a saint, like she wants to help, but she's just helping herself. I can't stand that she's doing this." Maybe he was still riding high from revealing his stint in special topics to his friends, but Clark felt defiant, brave. "I don't want to hide from this."

"What happened to avoidance?" Chloe asked. "I mean, confrontation might make this go faster or it might just clue Mrs. Flutey in that we're on to her game."

Clark stood up and took a step for the door. "Chloe, this will be safer with a group. Can we go now? Coming Pete?"

"What about avoiding further brain drainage? I liked that idea." Chloe hardly recognized the alien charging after Smallville's latest renegade mutant. The new Clark was taking a page out of the old Clark's play book, riding in hero-style. "Hold up a half a second and let me get my tape recorder."

Scrolling through the antique list she'd pulled up on E-Bay, Martha scanned for a suitable container, something lead to keep a meteor rock in from time to time. Jonathan had absconded with their old one to parts unknown, and she was officially not asking about it anymore. They had a truce, and they needed a lead box. Scrolling, through the 41,003 results her search had thrown out, Martha skimmed descriptions, her eyes always stopping at the price bar. "You'd think the thing was gold plated," Martha muttered.

* * *

"Martha!" Jonathan called. The screen door slammed loudly, and he came striding into the living room.

Martha spun in her chair and took in Jonathan's state quickly. His face was red, his posture tense, and he was clutching a letter in his left hand. Was it the bank again? She sent their mortgages in on time. "What's wrong?"

"I should never have signed anything from a Luthor. That snake is stealing the acreage we were renting them, Martha." Jonathan snapped a suspiciously check-shaped piece of paper. "IF I ever sell a grain of sand off this farm it will not be to LuthorCorp."

Rising quickly, Martha snatched the letter from Jonathan and scanned the document. "They can't do this Jon. We didn't agree to sell, and they can't make us. We'll go see Lex now. It's a mistake."

"Damn right, we're going to see Lex," Jonathan growled.

"Hey, let's be calm. This was a mistake." Martha caressed Jonathan's shoulder, trying to calm his temper at least a degree or two before they hit the road. "I'm driving, hothead."

* * *

Tuna salad with onions, pickles, garlic, and parmesan cheese, Allison Flutey opened her smelliest lunch of the week. "Why do the stinky foods taste so good?" she asked her empty classroom. With an admiring sigh she dug into the tuna goop. Fortunately, her Doug was tolerant of tuna breath. He usually didn't even make her down a Tic Tac before kissing.

When the door opened and three students came waltzing in, Allison quickly snapped the Tupperware container shut, acutely aware of the pungent aromas lingering in the air. "Hi Clark, class doesn't start for forty five minutes, and I'm trying to have a little lunch here. Can I help you and your friends?"

"Mrs. Flutey, I'm not coming back to your class." Clark took Chloe's timeline from Pete and placed it in front of his teacher. "I really thought you cared. I thought you were a good person, who wanted to help her students, but you're a monster, a mutant. You feed on us, devour our minds piecemeal to keep yourself going."

"What?" Alison asked. Clark wasn't making any sense, and the poor kid had seemed to be doing so well. She hadn't even planned to have him back next semester, but he wasn't behaving like the well-adjusted young man she was used to. Allison had a sinking suspicion another classmate probably had a hand in this. She didn't know either of the students who breezed in with Clark very well. She'd never taught them, but Chloe was the Torch's editor, an editor who had a tendency toward writing some outlandish fairytales in her spare time. She glanced at the timeline Clark had offered not taking time to really read it. "I don't know who has been telling you these things, but Clark, people can't do things like that, feed on other people's brains? It's a bad plot from a comic book. Come on, we've been studying the world, reading about it, making it our own for the past weeks. You have to be able to understand when someone's lying to you. Someone lied to you Clark."

He felt it begin, a dullness, a drain. Clark stepped back toward the exit. "I know exactly who lied. I wanted to give you a chance to admit it, to stop being a hypocrite, but I'm not going to stand here and let you do it again, what you did to me yesterday."

"Yesterday? Clark, if something strange happened to you yesterday, maybe you should see a doctor. I didn't do anything, but you had a very serious accident recently. What exactly happened?" Allison rose and tried to follow Clark on his accelerating retreat.

Planting herself in the doorway so that Clark could make a clean get away, Chloe crossed her arms over her chest. "Look Mrs. Flutey, leave him alone. He can't deal with you right now," Chloe said. Mrs. Flutey wasn't showing the angry/insane tendencies most mutants resorted to when confronted with the truth of their quirks. It was scaring Chloe just a little, scaring her because as many coincidences as she'd uncovered, there was still the possibility that Mrs. Flutey wasn't a mutant, and Clark was just getting worse. "Pete, don't let her follow us, okay? I'm going to check on Clark. Pete?"

The world had slowed down for Pete. Chloe and Clark and that Flutey woman were yammering on about things, unimportant things. Then someone was pulling on his arm, and he let them lead him away. It would be too much trouble to ask where they were going or why, too much trouble to not follow.

"Don't you touch him, lady," Chloe snapped as she pushed Pete out the door in front of her. "Move it Peter. You're going into a trance on me."

The look in that kid's eyes, Pete's eyes, Allison knew that look. She had students with that look in her classes, the students she spent so much time fighting for, the students who listened but didn't hear. She knew those children's unwillingness to try and learn wasn't her fault. She worked so hard with them, spent classes reading with them drilling them. With a mental shake, Allison dismissed the train of thought Clark's strange rant had sparked in her. She straightened her blue linen skirt and sank back into the seat behind her desk, but she couldn't go back to her lunch. "Poor Clark was just confused." It was her job to help her students with their problems, and in Clark's case she was supposed to be helping him adjust to life. Obviously, she was failing. Allison headed out to find her husband and brainstorm with him about how to help her confused amnesiac student.

* * *

"Clark! Wait up!" Chloe called. She knew Clark had the speed to be halfway to Calcutta by now, but Pete's zoning out had her very nervous, and she wanted help. "Pete, talk to me. Snap out of it." Chloe continued to drag her Pete-zombie to the Torch offices. The halls were beginning to fill with students now that lunch was winding up, and Pete was in no condition to head to his afternoon classes.

The Torch wasn't empty when she and Pete arrived. Clark had made his not-so-heroic retreat to aisle five of the computer section. "I thought you said Mrs. Flutey wasn't really dangerous in groups, and that it took some time for things to go bad. Pete's zoned completely."

"Completely? It happened that fast?" With a sheepish grimace, Clark joined Chloe with Pete. "I shouldn't have left you guys alone like that. She was in my head, you know. I felt it and panicked."

"Yeah, well Pete felt it too," Chloe said. "Pete, can you hear me?"

With a groan and a couple of owlish blinks, Pete came back to some degree of consciousness. "Stop. Shouting. Oh God, there's a jackhammer in my brain."

"I think it hits different people harder than others," Clark whispered. "Pete, do you remember what happened. Do you remember what Mrs. Flutey did?"

"Jeez, turn off a light," Pete begged. He sank into the nearest seat and covered his face with his hands. "I think I have a migraine."

"So," Clark whispered. He'd never felt more vindicated that he could remember. Chloe would have to believe him now, and so would Pete when his brain came back up to speed. "How do we bust her?"

"First things first." Chloe got an arm under Pete's armpit and hauled him up. "Give me a hand. We're getting Pete to the hospital, just to be safe."

* * *

Lex read over the letter that had Jonathan Kent in his study, glaring with enough force to bore a hole straight through him. Judging from ole Jonathan's expression, he wasn't too happy with LuthorCorp's attempt to bulldoze and double-deal his family. At least Martha seemed calm enough to listen, even if she wasn't going to like what he had to say. "I can't help you with this," Lex said. "I'm sorry, but my father replaced me at the factory. The new CEO is trying to be efficient, and from a big picture standpoint, it's more profit-conscious to own the test fields than rent them. My recommendation? Don't cash the check. Write back declining the section 4 action. He is trying to use a loophole in the contract that I wrote in to protect you. The fertilizer we're testing isn't dangerous, but it isn't tested either and on the off chance that we damaged your land I wanted a specific clause in which we could make the situation right." Lex folded the letter and offered it back to Jonathan. "He doesn't let on in the letter, but you have to accept the offer for it to be valid and binding."

"I doubt he's done with us, your father's new barracuda. I told you, Martha. Getting in bed with the Luthors was a mistake. Let's just hope getting out doesn't cost us the farm," Jonathan said. With a last glare he crumpled the letter into a ball and headed for the exit.

Martha stayed behind for a few moments and spared Lex a smile. "Thanks for letting us know what was going on. We do appreciate it."

Lex smiled in return and nodded. He wished he had a few extra moments to speak with Martha. He had more than a couple of questions for the cooler-headed Kent, but if she wasn't pretty close on Jonathan's heels, it would only lead to another blowup when Jonathan had to come back and collect his wife. Instead, Lex waited until he was alone in his study to dial the fertilizer factory. "Hi Cynthia, it's Lex. Pencil me in for a face-to-face with Mr. Dreyer. When? Yesterday."

* * *

Without bothering to knock, Allison Flutey cracked her husband's office door open enough to peek her head through. He was eating his lunch, a napkin on his lap, and a knife and fork in hand. He had to be the most fastidious straight man she'd ever met. "Honey, can I bother you for a couple of minutes?"

Doug smiled a sincere greeting and set aside his lunch. "You're never a bother. Is something wrong?"

"Am I that obvious? Because something is very wrong." Allison slid into the hot-seat normally reserved for students in front of the desk. "You sent me Clark Kent for a crash course on current events and common sense. I thought I was doing really well with him. He was acting really normal until today. One of his classmates tells him a tall tale about teachers feeding on the brains of their students, and he bought it, Doug, hook, line, and sinker. I'm not a psychologist, and I don't know how to handle this."

"Who told him the tall tale, Allison? How many students did they tell? Who's been told?" Doug asked. The spinach casserole he'd been enjoying five seconds earlier was resting uneasy in his stomach now. Allison obviously still didn't see, didn't understand, but it was better that way. He could protect her from the truth, from herself, but he had to know who knew. "Allison, I need to know who was told."

"The whole school will probably be reading the fabrication in our very own school-supermarket-tabloid within a day. I don't see why someone doesn't control the school paper better, but maybe when I'm outed as a brain-eating monster I'll get a little more respect from some of my students," Allison joked. But Doug wasn't laughing, not even a little. He looked terrified, pale, and shaken. "It's just a stupid tall tale. I'll recover when it comes out in the paper. I'm more worried about Clark."

"Of course you are. I wish for once, you'd worry about yourself first, or maybe worry about me. I love you, but you make it hard to protect you sometimes." Doug rose from behind his desk and started pacing. "I can stop this from being an issue if you'll just tell me everyone you know that knows."

"Doug, why are you acting like this? Why does this matter so much?" Allison met her husband's terrified gaze and her heart started to gallop in her chest. "Why are you afraid?"


	47. Chapter 15 Catch 22

**- Chapter 15 - Catch 22 -**

The class was full to capacity with the usual suspects, Mrs. Flutey's special students, but their teacher wasn't following her usual routine. She wasn't flitting through the small groups checking assignments and giving out new goals. Allison was sitting quietly at her desk, her mind focused on a simple fact, her husband was afraid. He was afraid of a rumor, a fabrication, a complete tall-tale.

Clark had given her an outline that was supposed to illustrate his fairy tale, a visual aide to prove his point, and Allison really looked at it for the first time. She traced a finger along the timeline to the major tragedies of her recent life, the accident that almost claimed her life, the miracle of her recovery. The kids had painted that miracle with a suspicious red pen. Circled and bolded, the date of her recovery shared its anniversary with a tragic coincidence. Howie Matthews, a boy she still remembered well, a class-clown, a closet-honor student, a boy who made a mistake...a sixteen year-old kid fell into a coma for no good reason on the exact day she woke up.

No one had ever connected those dots for her, and Allison wanted to dismiss the entire thing as a strange sad coincidence. It would be easy to discard the proof in front of her. This wasn't rational or realistic. People couldn't put other people into a coma. They couldn't drain each other's brains. This wasn't a comic book. It was reality, damn it.

But her husband was terrified.

Why was Doug afraid?

Her students were waiting. They were starting to buzz their impatience. Rows of kids with more challenges than anyone their age deserved, they, counted on her to even the playing field and give them a chance. Allison looked at those children, but she couldn't rise to teach them. She had to be sure about something first. She had to see something for herself.

* * *

Outside it was a beautiful day, sunny, bright, but not hot. The light couldn't penetrate the hospitals darkly tinted windows, not really. The wind was blowing outside, stirring dust, grass clippings, and the first of the fall leaves to give up their perch. Those dancing debris should have been bright colored and crisp, but the blackened glass filtered all that out leaving the world gray and dismal. Clark sucked down a lungful of the stale astringent hospital air and slid low in his molded plastic waiting-room seat. He needed to stop focusing on the flimsy window-glass sealing the hospital, stop focusing on the lack of real light and real air and just breathe. If he couldn't stop freaking out about the hospital, he was going to have to get out, and he needed to stay put until Chloe or the doctors came back. What happened to Pete was largely his fault for dragging them all down to confront Mrs. Flutey. It was just a hospital, just a building, a building with sealed gray windows that reminded him of the worst moment in his life that he could remember.

A few short months ago, Clark woke up in a place like this, a hospital. He'd been alone there, alone and completely adrift. But he wasn't lost anymore, or confused about who he was. He might not remember all the details, but he was home and there was no need to escape, no need to pound out another window and run.

"He's going to live," Chloe announced. She slid into the seat next to Clark and smiled consolingly. "You can stop feeling bad about deciding to confront Flutey now. Pete is sleeping, and he's really okay."

As though he'd shrugged a thousand pounds off his chest, Clark could breathe from the moment Chloe returned. It was partly relief that Pete was okay, but it was more than that too. Chloe was energy, comfort, warmth...sunshine. Clark tore his eyes away from her, his face flushing hotly. Maybe he failed functional literacy but he knew it was inappropriate, to feel those things when one of his friends was sleeping in a hospital bed. Hell, Chloe had made their relationship crystal clear. It was inappropriate to think about a friend the way he thought about Chloe a lot of the time. This was one relationship he wasn't going to screw up. Besides, there was a renegade mutant to deal with, plenty of things to occupy his straying mind. "What do we do now? The confrontation idea was a pointless disaster."

"Not pointless," Chloe said. "I don't think there's any doubt left that Mrs. Flutey is doing something to the people around her. There are so many questions though. Is she able to control who she drains? Her husband isn't the nicest man in the world but he isn't dull either. She has to have some degree of control or he'd be drooling. If she has some control, why drain Pete while we're standing there accusing her? Maybe she was threatening us?"

"I won't let her hurt you," Clark said. He had scooted forward to the edge of his seat, his eyes suddenly quite hard and serious.

Chloe's heart skipped about five beats while she contemplated the plaintive possessive protectiveness in Clark's blue eyes. That look belonged to the pink princess, Lana. Clark didn't waste that look on female best friends. "I appreciate the thought, but we're going to handle this together, and no one's getting hurt. I told you the truth is powerful, and we need to get enough truth together that Mrs. Flutey can't escape it." The moment passed, and Clark's expression faded back closer to a normal intensity, but she hadn't imagined that look. There was a whole legion of butterflies in her stomach that refused to fade with the moment. Chloe rose and took a step toward the door, her mouth working reflexively, explaining their next step to Clark. "I think we should head back to the beginning."

"The beginning?" Clark asked. "School?"

"Not quite."

* * *

There were so many tubes running into the pale red-haired boy in the hospital bed. A half dozen machines hummed and blipped, charting the steady course of his monotonous existence. Allison watched the unchanging scene from the other side of a pane of glass. He was still just a kid, not even twenty. She didn't want to think about how long someone could linger like that, neither alive nor dead. It was hard to believe that some of the students thought she might have caused this state. She would know if she'd caused something like this. She'd feel it.

"Are you part of the family? a nurse asked.

Allison started, finally turning away from the sad dim hospital room. "Sorry, I was his teacher, one of his teachers." Technically, Howie never took Special Topics, but the nurse didn't need to know the bizarre chain of events that led her to the hall she was loitering in. "Do you think I could go in to see him?"

"Oh absolutely," the nurse said. She dropped the pad and pills she'd been carrying into her navy blue scrubs' pocket and held the door open for Allison. "We have flexible visiting hours here, and the Matthews family encourages visitors. They think people are what's helping him. Howie has actually been steadily improving for the past year. Whatever brought this state on seems to be healing to some small degree. His brain activity is up five percent. It's not a miracle, but it's progress, you know?"

"The doctors don't know what caused this?" Allison asked.

"It's a mystery," the nurse replied.

The door clicked shut, and Allison took a seat, perching on the edge of a cushioned reclining chair. Her husband Doug sat at her side for months while she lay like that, the living dead. He had never been willing to talk about it, to share the experience with her, but she could see the changes in him. When she went to sleep, he was her Doug, her fellow crusader. He loved her and the world and teaching, and then when she woke up, he was older and angrier. He stopped laughing. The miracle of her recovery hadn't been enough to erase the horror of their accident, but she understood the changes, reconciled herself to them. Sitting across from Howie, Allison had a new understanding of the horror of watching someone exist, and she wished she could have spared Doug the whole experience. After everything that had happened, of course Doug was scared that someone was casting aspersions against his wife. He just wanted to protect her, keep her safe.

Wiping at her eyes, Allison reached out to Howie, covering his taped hand with her own. "Hello," she said. "You might remember me, the shortish woman chaperoning the homecoming dance a few years back. If I had chaperoned a little better and danced with my husband a little less, you might not have gotten yourself drunk and into that accident. I don't know if you worried about it, what happened to me, but I'm not angry, and I never was. I'm here and awake. Living, talking proof that miracles happen and that you can beat this." Allison squeezed Howie's limp hand again.

Maybe it was a crazy tangent that brought her here, but Allison was glad that she'd come. "I'm playing hooky, you know, and I should get back to work. But I'll come back to see you again, alright?"

Under her hand, Howie's hand jerked, curling into a claw, and Allison jumped back. What was happening? Was he waking up? Alarms were blowing, and Howie's back was arching in the bed so violently that she was afraid he would tumble to the floor. Then the nurses and doctors stormed the room shouting questions and holding down their patient.

"What happened?"

"Did you do something to him?"

Shaking her head at the people working frantically, Allison backed all the way against the wall.

"Epinephrine."

Why was the doctor hitting his chest? They didn't pump at the chests like that unless the heart stopped beating, did they? God, was he dying? Why was he dying?

* * *

"Another hospital," Clark muttered. The new place, a private facility, Peaceful Acres or Gentle Mercy something, was a little different from the county hospital. At least the windows here weren't tinted and the air was a little crisper, less phenol-heavy. "Do we know where we're going?"

Chloe looked over her shoulder with a sly grin. "Of course, just follow me. I was planning this expedition before the sidetracks we took earlier. Howie's room should be..." Tossing door 305-C open Chloe froze. "Empty? I guess I had it wrong. We'll just have to look around some more."

Clark was generally happy to let Chloe lead the way, showing off her field journalism skills, but he felt a familiar tug at his mind, a gentle pull. "Mrs. Flutey?" Clark said. He hesitated at the door to the room, almost certain that his teacher was lurking in the shadows there.

Realizing that Clark wasn't following, Chloe came back and peered into the room with him. "What is it? Did you see something?"

"Felt something," Clark replied. He focused his eyes, allowing his vision to confirm what his other senses were telling him. There was a woman in that dark room, hiding. "Mrs. Flutey, I know you're there."

"If you know I'm here, then why aren't you running away like earlier? Have you decided that I'm not a brain eating monster?" Mrs. Flutey choked out. "You're willing to brave my presence for the moment?"

He could feel her feeding already, draining at his mind, pumping away the energy that let him concentrate and reason. "I know what you are," Clark answered, stepping back. "You may not understand it, but unlike all those other snacks in your classes, I can feel what you do. I can feel you doing it now."

"What do I do?" Allison shrieked. "I didn't do anything..."...and he died. That boy died. "What do I do Clark? Tell me, because I'm not doing ANYTHING."

Chloe tugged on Clark's arm, not liking the sound of Mrs. Flutey's voice, the tone or tenor. "Come on, we know how these confrontations turn out. Pete's already in the hospital. We should keep moving. She's dangerous."

"I'm moving," Clark said. He let Chloe pull him away, but he didn't turn his back on Mrs. Flutey.

Allison wanted to run after those children and challenge them to defend their accusations, to take their words back as the insane ramblings that they had to be. But she didn't run after them, and she couldn't look away from Clark. His blue eyes captured her, held her, accused her. "This isn't really happening. I didn't hurt anyone."

* * *

Clark listened to Chloe talk about the doctor's theories, low energy in the brain leading to massive oxidative injuries, or some such medical jargon. He knew all he needed to know. Allison was in the room with Howie Matthews, and he was dead within minutes. "She killed him. She finished destroying whatever bits of brain she left him the first time. You're telling me the doctors can't figure that out?"

"I'm telling you what I managed to skim out of Howie's chart before the nurse threw me out. The doctors aren't going to pin this on a mutant, and the authorities aren't likely to buy a mutant brain vampire story." Chloe shrugged and plopped down on her car's hood. "There is someone else in this town that buys my mutant theories, and he has tried to help in the past." Chloe paused for dramatic effect. "Lex has been known to use his money, influence, and power in a good cause, particularly when the kid who saved his life asks nicely."

"So that's what the infamous friendship was based on, obligation. My parents don't trust Lex," Clark said. "Do you?"

"I have trusted him, but I'm not sure if I do," Chloe hedged. "I want to trust him."

"You think he might be able to help with the current mutant? You think he'll believe us?" Clark strolled up to the car hood and leaned a little closer that necessary toward Chloe. "I say we give him a chance to help."

* * *

Doug Flutey came home to a quiet house, a dark house. His wife was missing, and the kids who'd screwed with her, Clark Kent and company, had made themselves scarce. How dare the little bastards tell his wife she was hurting people. How dare they mess with her peace of mind, her life? After everything the children had cost her, cost them, how dare they take anything else.

Without turning on a light, Doug threw his old briefcase at the kitchen table, missing it entirely and threw himself into one of the dining chairs. His head resting in his hands, he didn't hear his wife moving about until she pulled the other chair out beside him. "God, Allison? I was so worried."

"Dougey, I need you to talk to me, please," Allison whispered. "Please."

"No," Doug whispered back. There was no mistaking the subject Allison had finally stumbled upon. Nothing else could possibly cause the hysteria resonating in her voice. "We don't need to talk. We need to sleep, and forget everything that happened today. This will all seem silly in the morning."

"Stop lying to me. If you can't tell me the truth, I'm going to lose my mind. I will." Allison grinned, a terrified brittle expression. "I am not a child. I'm your partner. I take something from people, from their minds. Did it start with Howie? Have I hurt you too?"

Staring at his wife's near-crazed expression, Doug let go of his last hope that they could go back. The freedom and the bliss of ignorance were gone, but maybe when she understood, they could come to a new status quo. "You've never hurt me Allison. You only hurt the ones who hurt you, the children. It started with Howie, with the little prick that drove drunk and almost killed you. He thought that coming to your hospital room and sitting by you made it better, that it might buy him forgiveness for destroying you.

"You know what bought him forgiveness? The day I walked in and he was unconscious on the floor, the day you were blinking at me in bed and moaning about your aching head, the day he traded places with you, he deserved a tiny bit of forgiveness." Doug leaned back in his chair, unable to meet his wife's eyes while telling this tale. "I knew what happened, not the science but the logic. I made sure that there wouldn't be a connection to you. I protected you, Allison, and I've been protecting you for years now.

"It isn't as bad as you're thinking right now. You never take so much that the children notice. You haven't hurt anyone else like Howie. Everything is in balance," Doug explained. "Can you see? It's okay the way it is."

Allison shrugged and nodded absently at her husband, as though she were still listening and agreeing. "I have to resign. I can't hurt anyone if I don't see them. I loved teaching, but I don't need it. The children will be safer if I go." All those poor children, how many had she damaged or held back?

"NO, you can't, you need them, the energy, whatever it is you take. If you go without long enough, you'd go away again. You'd lose yourself. I'd lose you, and I can't lose you again. Allison? Are you listening?" She wasn't focusing on him. Lord, she had risen and started to walk away. Couldn't she understand what he was saying? "The longer you go without taking energy, the more dangerous you become. Do you really want to create another Howie Matthews, trapped in a bed because he wandered too close to you in the ebb of your energy supplies? It's irresponsible, Allison. You have a responsibility to keep yourself charged. Do you hear me Allison?"

Allison could imagine herself trapped in the bed Howie had inhabited until earlier that day. She could imagine the tubes and the emptiness. And she could see her other students trapped in that same prison, Francis, Nancy, Clark. It was in her, the potential to destroy lives, to make zombies. Allison lifted her hands to her ears covering them firmly and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out her husband's words and the images swimming behind her eyes.

"I HEAR you," she screamed.


	48. Chapter 16 Momentum

**- Chapter 16 - Momentum -**

Walking back into the Luthor manor, facing the mahogany door, and stepping over the threshold again was harder than Chloe had thought it would be. After the last year, when she'd been so comfortable dropping by that she didn't even ring the bell anymore, the austereness had worn off. Then her last visit ended on a distinctly sour note. She came by, dropping vague hints about Clark's secrets, and left wondering if she'd ever be invited back in.

Clark rang the bell, a deep resonating chime, and the housekeeper, Allison, answered. While he had no trouble following the housekeeper in, Chloe hesitated. It was her idea to come to Lex, but it wasn't his job to help. He wasn't a public servant, and being a billionaire didn't obligate him to the world. But Lex always made it easy, natural. It was his own fault if she kept coming to him. If he started saying no, she'd leave him alone.

Clark stuck his head out the door, and arched an eyebrow at her. "Are we going to do this or not?"

"Sorry," Chloe said. She shook off the melancholy doubts that had frozen her outside and moved forward. "I was just thinking."

Stepping inside, they left mundane muggy Kansas behind and were enveloped in a cool air that had nothing to do with temperature. Their footsteps echoed off the marble floors, obliterating the cavernous church-like silence. Chloe wished she'd worn sneakers like Clark instead of the moderately stylish clogs she'd picked up in Metropolis. Their cuteness in no way made up for cacophony they were inflicting now.

Everything seemed pretty much the same, Chloe noted absently. Lex hadn't redecorated over the summer anyway. Allison opened the door to Lex's private office, shared a word with her employer, and slipped away. Chloe knew the open door was an invitation and this time she didn't hesitate to move forward. If Lex was still angry with her, she might as well get the waiting over with.

The Lex that smiled broadly and rose to greet them bore no resemblance to the cool aristocrat that dismissed Chloe in May. This was the coconspirator and companion who had helped her on her mad-goose-chase to locate Clark. Chloe came forward to shake hands, still a touch hesitant, but Lex turned the handshake into a hug, enveloping her in his clean expensive-aftershave scent. "You've been a stranger too long, Chloe," Lex said. "Smallville hasn't been the same without its teenage crusader."

"It's good to see you too, Lex," Chloe said. She was more than a little shocked at enthusiastic hug. It was almost too much, almost fake, this cuddly warm welcome. Didn't he remember the summer or her inability to tell him the whole truth? Lex never seemed the type to forgive, forget, and move on.

Lex finally pulled back and headed over to Clark, but Clark didn't seem up for a companionable hug, or handshake for that matter. His arms were crossed over his chest and he wasn't smiling even a little. Was that jealousy pricking at her friend? Maybe she mistook the look before at the hospital, but the way he was looking at Lex now was positively green.

"We came to get some advice, maybe some help dealing with a new mutant in town," Clark said. He could hear the angry tenor in his own voice and he tried to calm himself down. It wasn't like Chloe belonged to him. She could hug whoever she wanted as long as she wanted, but Lex was too handsome and rich and suave. She could hug anyone but Lex, and it would be okay...or more okay anyway. "Chloe seems to think you're the only adult in town who will both believe us and be able to do anything about the situation."

"Why don't you tell me what's going on," Lex prompted. "I'll see what I can do."

* * *

Legs folded tightly to her chest, Allison Flutey leaned against her bedroom door. It was a nice door, solid oak. She painted it red when they first moved in, red for luck and passion and life. Her mother had been horrified. In her mother's world, doors were supposed to be white or taupe or gray. Red doors were improper and indecent.

Red doors were perfect.

Allison loved her red door and her green bedroom and the crimson flower-print comforter she slept under with her husband. She loved him too, Doug. He was a string-bean of a man, a bookworm, a kind man. He tried so hard to protect her, and wouldn't she have done the same for him? Digging her fingers into the thick cream colored carpet, Allison slid down the side of the door until her face was nestled into the smooth synthetic fibers. Was Doug still outside the door, waiting for her to unlock it and let him in? Allison didn't call Doug's name or offer to unlock the door. She wanted to sleep, to crawl into her bed and leave the world behind for a few short hours.

It took a lot of effort to shake off the lethargy binding her to the floor and rise to her feet, but Allison managed it. She stood over her bed, a sanctuary, a place to rest, a prison. Once upon a time she went to sleep, and didn't wake up, not for a long long time. Her awakening hadn't been a miracle like the papers reported. Rather it was a curse, a crime against nature, a terrible mutation. Could you even call what she had become human anymore? She was a parasite now, a parasite of humanity, a tapeworm of the mind.

She imagined Howie in that bed sleeping like the dead, no tubes or monitors. Howie wasn't sleeping anymore. He wasn't even the living dead anymore. She killed him, finished the job she started years earlier.

Allison turned to her closet.

There was a box on the top shelf, a shoe box emblazoned with Nike's emblem, but there weren't sneakers inside. Allison fumbled with the box and its heavy contents having to rise to the tips of her toes just to get her fingertips under it. Box in hand, Allison returned to her bed and climbed in. The covers cocooned around her like a linen womb. She was facing the door, her improper indecent...perfect red door.

She opened the shoe box.

* * *

"Are you okay?" Chloe asked.

Clark was slouched low in a high-backed leather chair in Lex's study. He cut his eyes at Chloe and shrugged. Was he okay? Not really. Lex asked the kiddies to stay behind while he handled the big bad mutant, and Chloe thought that was a good idea. Who did Chloe turn to when she had a problem? Lex. She claimed that she didn't really trust him, but was she out there making sure he handled Mrs. Flutey in a reasonable and ethical manner? No, she was satisfied to sit back and wait.

"Right, well, you could at least talk to me. What's eating you anyway?" Chloe asked. "Did you want to be there to face Flutey?"

"It seems like we should be there. You must trust Lex more than you let on if you're willing to let him handle this whole situation himself," Clark said. He didn't like the petulant note in his voice, or the feelings he couldn't stop feeling that put it there. "I thought you didn't trust him."

"I don't trust him, completely," Chloe said. "But if I were tagging along so would you, and you need to stay away from that woman."

"We're protecting what brains I have left? We're being cautious." Clark couldn't look Chloe in the eye. Being careful and cautious was suffocating him. He was tired of being cautious, tired of being friends. Was this the right time to address his feelings? Probably not, but right times were impossible to find sometimes. Clark felt brave and frustrated and jealous. If he didn't let this out, he was going to spontaneously combust. "Chloe." He rolled out of the chair and approached close enough to touch his friend, his sunshine. "I want..." God, why did words always fail him when he really needed them? His mouth had gone so dry, and his heart was thudding rapidly. "Can I kiss you?"

How many times had Chloe imagined this moment, the moment when Clark would notice her, kiss her, love her? How many times had she fantasized about her chiseled, sensitive, alien best friend? Now that she was in the moment, the reality, she couldn't seem to speak. It couldn't be real. Maybe this was just another fantasy?

"I'm sorry," Clark murmured. His heart seemed to be cramping and dying in the silence from Chloe. They were friends. Friends didn't kiss. Was his mistake going to ruin things? Was he going to lose his best friend to the uncomfortable silence that she didn't seem to be able to fill? "Can you forget what I said? It was stupid. I know we're friends, just friends."

Chloe, a snarky girl, a girl who knew how to wield words, dropped all pretense toward articulation. She'd hurt Clark with her silence, and he was turning away, but she didn't want him to turn away. She wanted the kiss he had offered. So Chloe took it. She rose up on the tips of her toes, grabbed Clark by his shirt-collar and dove in. Chloe tossed caution and fear to the wind. She staked her claim at long last. Chloe wanted this alien boy. She was ready.

At first Clark didn't know what to do. Chloe basically took a running go, scaled him and kissed him. It was his first kiss, a wet awkward warm thing that melted into fire. Chloe was his. This fit. The fire of the kiss was running through him, down his arms, into his fingertips...behind his eyes.

His instincts were the only thing that saved Chloe. Clark turned away before the fire behind his eyes erupted into a path of flaming destruction. Blinking past the afterimage of redness, he was greeted to a wall of flame where his eyes had ignited Lex's wall. Even knowing that it was coming, that heat vision was on the short list of growing pains he had to endure, Clark was completely shocked. Another second and he could have melted Chloe's face off. Nausea swept over him at the thought, and Clark dropped to his knees retching.

"Oh my God," Chloe gasped. She stumbled backwards and almost fell. "I think you're heat vision turned on."

* * *

Blue lights flashed on Elm Street, casting the middle-class cookie-cutter homes in the bizarre shadows. Lex stood amongst the small throng of residents sticking out like a sore thumb, an Armani suit amongst beer guts and bathrobes. There wasn't a good reason for him to linger and gawk. One of his security men had picked up the story off the police band. Clark and Chloe's mutant, Flutey, was dead, likely suicide.

He hadn't been particularly shocked when Chloe and Clark strolled into his office spouting information about some new mutant. It was what Chloe did, hunt mutants and write about them. What he hadn't expected was blatant hostility and jealousy from Clark, and all over a little hug. Lex couldn't contain a sardonic smile. Things really had changed. Clark wasn't pining for Lana Lang. The new Clark liked blonds. Personally, Lex thought the kid was trading up.

The lovebirds were destined to have a rocky relationship if half of Lex's theories were accurate. He was fairly certain that Clark was some form of mutant, and dating a reporter could be a strain for a man with secrets. Then again, Chloe knew something about Clark's secrets. She knew enough to drop vague hints before blowing town for the summer. The way she'd dangled secrets in front of him without sharing still rankled Lex, but he wasn't about to let that rancor show.

You caught more flies with honey than vinegar after all.

* * *

A shooting star lit up the night sky over central Kansas, burning a path through the star fields for a few short seconds before it disappeared. Unlike your typical shooting star, this wasn't a tiny bit of space junk burning away in the atmosphere. This was a ship whose cloaking technology was a little slow to kick in.

Unlike the first time she visited Earth, the Eradicator wasn't choosing a site based on century-old calculations of potential life-pod trajectories. Today she was steering her ship with purpose. Without stirring a single tassel of corn, she swept through the unending agricultural landscape finally landing neatly between some antiquated aboriginal farm equipment in the Kent's barn.

The barn was Clark's sanctuary within the sanctuary of his home, and she hoped to find him there tonight. Emotions were building inside her like insane viruses, excitement, pride, accomplishment. Kal-El was going to be pleased when she showed him her project, her farm.

And Clark? Clark was rather easy to sway when you put your mind to it.


	49. Chapter 17 Burning Down the House

**- Chapter 17 - Burning Down the House -**

Flames roared into the night, crackling and licking at the aged timbers of Luthor manor. Chloe stood behind the police's barricade, the heat of the fire soaking into her skin, making her face feel tight and dry. Firefighters were trying to contain the blaze, to keep the conflagration from spreading into the nearby woods, or potentially worse, into Lex's neighbor's drying fall crops. Chloe folded her arms across her chest and shivered despite the heat.

Clark kissed her. He closed his blue eyes opened his mouth and melted her into a puddle of goo. Granted, they burned down the local billionaire's house in the process, but combustion was a sign of real passion, right? Clark hadn't seemed nearly as amused by the situation as she had. After personally seeing to her evacuation, Clark had fled the scene of his accidental arson, all serious and scared. Chloe wished she'd gotten a hand on him before he ran off. She wished she'd had the foresight to look him in the eye and tell him it was okay, that she wasn't freaked out and that he couldn't help what had happened. Clark had a predictable tendency to be overly critical of himself, to blame himself for everything, particularly when his alienness came into play. She would be on the road trying to catch up with him now, except it had seemed rude to leave before Lex made it home. She was so wrapped up with her own thoughts, she would have missed Lex's arrival if he hadn't burst onto the scene screaming.

"What the Hell happened?" Lex shouted. He pushed his way through the police barricade only to be stopped by a pair of firefighters. Letting the firefighters push him back to the safe zone, Lex couldn't tear his eyes away from the bright orange destruction that was obliterating his home, consuming his childhood memories, the art he surrounded himself with, the relics and the beauty, all burning. "Incompetents." There was only one fire truck on the scene, one measly volunteer fire truck ejaculating ineffectual tiny spurts of water.

"Everyone got out Mr. Luthor," one of the firefighters said. "There are more trucks on the way and we'll have things under control soon I'm sure."

Lex made no response, running his hands back over his forehead and lacing his fingers together over the crown of his head. His home was old, sure, but it was also well maintained. He had the entire building rewired and checked for listening devices when he moved in only two years earlier. It had to be an accident...or arson. His father wanted him to leave Smallville, but would he burn the mansion, the art, and risk killing the son he was trying to relocate?

"Lex, are you okay?" Chloe asked. She wanted to apologize, but there was no way to do that without admitting that she and Clark had started the fire. Explaining the accident to someone who didn't know Clark's unique situation would be nigh impossible. "Clark had to go, but I wanted to stick around until you made it home."

"I'm fine. Thank you for the consideration." Lex spared Chloe a glance, his mind still whirling with possibilities. The flames had cast her in shades of orange, and a new possibility occurred to Lex. He had left Chloe and Clark in his home, a possible mutant and his new crush. Could Clark have had something to do with his torched home? The possibility was a little out-there, but this was Smallville, and this was Clark Kent. He was a magnet for strange little miracles and disasters. If one of those miracles hadn't involved saving his life, Lex might be more inclined to be angry at the possibility that his friend might have somehow burned his home. "You and Clark weren't hurt were you? Do you know what happened?"

"We're fine, and I have no idea," Chloe said. Technically, she didn't have any idea about the physiology of starting a fire with one's eyes. Biology had never been her favorite subject anyway, and Clark took the mystery of anatomy and physiology to a new level. Considering alien anatomy sent Chloe's mind down a short side trip. She remembered the sensation of Clark's strong hands running down her arms and over her back. She remembered his rock-hard chest crushed against her during their first kiss. She only had to look over her shoulder to remember the fire that followed. "It's getting late and I should go. If there's anything I can do for you, call me, okay? We have a guest room."

"I think I can afford the local hotel," Lex said. His grim face softened a degree with a half-hearted smile. "But I appreciate the offer."

Chloe walked away, her mind so full of emotions, excitement and confusion that she never even asked Lex about the mutant she and Clark had been pursuing so diligently. Mrs. Flutey, the big bad brain-drainer, was so easily forgotten that one kiss and a tiny fire were enough to push her completely from Chloe's mind.

* * *

Roast beef, potatoes, gravy, and macaroni, a nice dinner, sat on the table cold and congealed. Martha glanced at the kitchen clock, 9:30, and she started clearing the table. It wasn't like this was the first time Clark had missed a meal, but thanks partly to their paranoia, it was the first meal he'd missed since coming home. She and Jonathan had had a chance to get worried, to panic, and to decide not to overreact when Clark came home. He should have called, but that wasn't a hanging offence. It was just barely a worth a weekend grounding.

Jonathan followed her lead, gathering a dish in each hand and headed to the kitchen. He was being very reasonable after the day they'd had. First the letter from LuthorCorp and then finding out that the kinder gentler member of the Luthor family wasn't in charge of the fertilizer factory anymore, all things considered, his temper was firmly under control.

Leaving Jonathan scraping at the gravy bowl, Martha headed back to the table and started stacking their dinner plates. She heard the door open, and without looking up she began scolding Clark. "Have you heard of a telephone? What do we do when we're going to be late, mister?"

"Should I have called then?"

Martha's heart stopped beating for a long moment before stuttering into a gallop rhythm. The cool clipped feminine tone was unmistakable, a voice that haunted her nightmares. "Eradicator," Martha whispered. Looking up into the machine's eyes, she tried not to panic. Just because Clark was late on the same evening that the Eradicator strolled back into their lives didn't necessarily mean anything. But it could mean everything. "Where is my son?"

The Eradicator didn't much look like herself tonight. She was still dressed down in the softer mother-image she had designed for the children, and she watched Martha like a student studying a model. "We've covered this before. You aren't really his mother, and apparently, you can't even keep up with him. I need to speak with Clark. You're obviously expecting him sometime tonight. I'll just make myself comfortable."

Martha felt a pair of strong hands lock onto her shoulders and her terror subsided a small amount. They could handle this monster-machine together. "Get out of my house," Jonathan commanded. "Get off this planet. You aren't welcome here."

The Eradicator ignored Jonathan's warning, instead selecting a chair and taking a seat. She crossed her legs casually and curled her lips into a predatory grin. "Make me."

With those two words the Eradicator illustrated the true impotence of the Kents' situation. They could fight, scratch, shoot, but the insignificant humans couldn't touch her. She knew it, and so did they.

* * *

In the corn, pacing back and forth, trying to reach out with every tendril of his mind Clark was calling, begging, panicking. _"Lola, I need you, right now. It's an emergency. Please help me." _Why wouldn't she answer him? Why was she hiding when he was losing his mind, when his body was betraying him? He could have hurt Chloe. He burned Lex's beautiful house. Lola was the only person on the planet that could help him get his new ability under control. She understood his biology better than he understood himself.

The corn leaves clung to him, ticking at his face and arms, a petty distraction that was no distraction at all. He'd been begging Lola to help, screaming for her with his mind for hours now, and it was beginning to sink in that she wasn't going to answer. She wasn't going to help. "_Please,"_ Clark begged. "Please_." _

* * *

"Ah, I hear him," the Eradicator said. She rose in a fluid motion and waved to the Kents before speeding away toward the unmistakable sound of Clark's muttering. There was tension in his pacing, his heart rate was practically racing, and she didn't like the way he was breathing. It all smelled of fear. She sent him home to Earth so that he could be comfortable and happy. What had these humans been doing to her Kryptonian? "Clark, are you well?"

For a fraction of a second, Clark thought Lola had decided to answer his pleas, but spoken words couldn't really be confused with Lola's voice. Instead, Clark was faced with a familiar woman who might be able to help him since Lola wouldn't. "Eradicator." His parents weren't terribly happy with the Eradicator, but Clark had no memory of this machine's more destructive tendencies. As far as his memory went back, the Eradicator had helped him, saved him from an impromptu auction, and sent him home. "You're a sight for sore eyes." It didn't even occur to Clark to be nervous or to wonder if the Eradicator was going to abscond with him again. After all, she'd never been anything but biddable with him that he could remember.

"Whichever human is causing you distress, identify them, and I will gladly eliminate the caustic individual or individuals." The Eradicator offered her service, cold-blooded murder, with a crisp matter-of-fact tone more suited to a discussion of the weather.

Chill bumps popped up on Clark's arms, and he understood a degree of his parents fear. This machine was a loaded weapon looking for a target, anything to destroy. All she wanted from him was a name. With that directive she'd be happy. There was anticipation in her eyes, hope. Clark never really considered giving the Eradicator a name, but he couldn't help thinking of Mrs. Flutey, the mutant who had hurt him and scared him. As dangerous as he thought she was, she didn't deserve a death sentence from the Eradicator. To be honest he wasn't sure what Mrs. Flutey deserved. She was different, and she hurt people, but he was different too. He'd burned Lex's house tonight, and he could very easily have hurt Chloe badly. How was he any different than Allison Flutey? No, he was going to be different because he was going to find a way not to be dangerous anymore. "I don't want you eliminating people. Besides it isn't a human causing me distress. I'm causing my own problems tonight," Clark said. "I burned down someone's house."

The Eradicator grinned and pursed her lips seductively. "Who's the lucky girl? Heat vision almost always first activates following certain hormone surges. Whose dwelling did you burn?"

"This isn't funny," Clark said. The Eradicator was smiling like this was nothing, no big deal. "I could have hurt her. If I hadn't looked away, she would have been burned."

"That is a problem with dating a human. They are very combustible creatures. You'll just have to be careful until you have better control of your, bodily functions," The Eradicator said.

Clark knew his face was burning with embarrassment. "I thought you were a machine. I didn't think machines made jokes and mocked people. This isn't a joke. You have to help me control this."

"Mock you? I would never mock you, and I would love to help you, but I need a favor first." The Eradicator smiled, pleased with a chance to exchange favors with Clark. Her plan was going to require more than a little cooperation from the prime genetic stud in her breeding project. The situation was going to require finesse, something she had little experience with, but she was learning all sorts of new things. "Would you mind playing host to some displaced refugees? There is a war on out there in the Galaxy and technically they're related to you."

"What? I tell you I almost melted a girl's face off, ask for your help, and you want to talk house-guests?" Clark shook his head incredulously and stalked away from the Eradicator. "You're demented."

"Do you want my help?" the Eradicator asked. "I suppose you can muddle through this new development on your own. Maybe your human family will have some ideas about how not to melt human girls' faces off when you're in the heat of the moment."

"Fine," Clark shouted. "I'll play host to my cousins, whoever they are. Just help me."

The Eradicator was tempted to try out a human expression and wolf-whistle at Clark. He was bristling with his anger and frustration. Standing straight and taunt, he reminded her of his counterpart, her master, Kal-El. From the hint of red color in his cheeks to the curl of his fists, Clark was a tasty young man. "You have to practice, Clark. Get those trigger-hormones surging and practice. It's like learning to walk or read or whistle. You'll figure it out eventually. Now let's head home and figure out the sleeping arrangements."

* * *

Jonathan sat beside his wife on their porch, his every nerve feeling frayed and worn to the point of breaking. He was tired of living in fear, waiting for the next problem: amnesia, Eradicators, Luthors. God, he just wanted some lasting peace with his family whole and happy. "What now?" Jonathan asked. "We're right back where we started, at the mercy of that machine. Whatever she demands, we don't have any way to challenge her."

"I know where we are, but we are not letting that thing hurt Clark or take Clark." Martha shared a tense joyless smile with her husband. That smile commiserated with Jonathan's every frayed nerve and begged for the same peace he wished for. "We need the shotgun and the rifle."

Jonathan didn't argue with his wife about the potential effectiveness of projectile weapons. It was technically something they hadn't tried. "I'll get them."

Walking out of the corn with the Eradicator in tow, Clark froze in his back yard. He recognized the tools his parents were clutching as weapons, guns, and he had a fairly good idea why they were sitting outside mini-militia style. "Don't shoot," Clark said. Besides the fact that shooting wasn't going to affect the Eradicator, she wasn't here to cause serious trouble for a change. "We come in peace. Don't we?"

"Peace, love, and procreation," the Eradicator purred. "I'll go get my refugees. You can fill your parents in on our arrangement."

Clark grimaced at the Eradicator's back and groaned audibly. He'd agreed to play host to some unknown alien-relatives in exchange for help controlling his heat vision. The Eradicator thought help was telling him to practice not burning the county to a crisp. His parents were going to love this.

"What arrangement?" Martha stammered. She hadn't lowered her shotgun, and her finger was actually twitching on the trigger as she trained the weapon on the Eradicator's disinterested face. "You aren't going anywhere, Clark."

"She isn't trying to take me anywhere, Mom. She asked if we'd mind letting a refugee or two stay here for a while, and I told her it was okay." Clark squinted his eyes shut and waited for his parents to be angry and yell.

"What?" Jonathan asked. "Refugees?" The Eradicator didn't seem the type to be on a mission of mercy.

"I know I shouldn't have just said okay without asking first, but it's a long story. There was a mutant Chloe and I were investigating, and we wound up at Lex's place. One thing led to another, and I kissed Chloe which was fine, great even, but I started a fire with my heat vision." The stunned expression on his parents' face was enough to make Clark wish he'd been more open with them sooner. They didn't know about Mrs. Flutey or the short list of alien abilities he was expecting to develop. "I asked the Eradicator to help me control my new ability, and she agreed to help if I would play host to these aliens. I had to agree."

"She's not planning to take you anywhere, or do anything to you?" Martha asked. She exchanged a skeptical look with Jonathan. "I don't trust her or anything she offers. There has to be some loophole, some catch we don't know about yet."

Jonathan lowered his rifle and chuckled. "Why would she lie or put on a façade when she could just tie our guns into decorative bows and strong-arm us into doing whatever she wants?"

Martha wasn't sure how to feel. If Clark had it right, the Eradicator wasn't on a rampage for now, but her son had had quite the busy day. "Even assuming the Eradicator just wants us to play host to some refugees, we have a lot to talk about: a new mutant, heat vision, kissing Chloe. Why didn't we know anything about any of this?" Martha asked. "Why didn't you come to us?"

Clark shrugged and looked away, not completely sure why he'd kept so many secrets even after he'd decided to trust his parents. "I guess I liked it that you were finally happy again, and I didn't want to mess it up."

* * *

The world smelled dirty and moldy and ripe. Luci twitched her nose and tried unsuccessfully to contain a rapid succession of sneezes. "This world is dusty and dirty and what is all that stuff everywhere?" She pointed to the piles of hay and farm equipment. Ford had crawled on top of a particularly bizarre green piece of equipment and was well on his way to covering himself entirely in a dull black substance. "Ford! That could be dangerous! Get down, now!"

Ford smelled his blackened hand and presented it to his sister as though it were an amazing discovery. "Hydrocarbon, it isn't going to hurt me."

"You're five. You don't know what can hurt you," Luci said. "Don't make me come up there and get you."

Reo didn't attempt to involve herself in the kid's squabbling, instead focusing on her new home. It was at least three billion times worse than she imagined when the Eradicator propositioned her. The world was under-developed to the point that they were still using iron and steel and apparently, hydrocarbons. If she was going to do any research on this rock she'd have to scavenge a good bit of raw materials from the Eradicator's ship and the rest would have to be built from scratch, not an impossible task, but annoying in the extreme. Reo felt the beginnings of a tension headache building behind her eyes, and she wished the stupid children would stop their bickering.

Luci had followed her little brother onto the human machine, and both children were filthy, streaked from head to foot with the tarry black substance.

"They are children, aren't they," the Eradicator said.

Reo turned to face her employer's passive perfect face, startled by her silent arrival. "Of course they're children. You knew they were when you saved them from that dying mining station."

"I'll have to be patient with them, but we need to start working with you immediately. I haven't discussed the project with Clark, the Kryptonian, yet. We need to ease him into this, yet we have very limited time with you." The Eradicator took a quick visual summary of Reo-Ra, and wished she could reshape a woman as easily as she could pulverize the core of a world. This frumpy old scholar bulged in exactly the wrong places and sagged like a half-stuffed cushion. "I want you to work on your appearance a little. Can you tighten any of this flesh or wear something that makes it look less misshapen?" She gestured at Reo's stomach and thighs generally.

"Sure, give me a few minutes. I'll drop a hundred pounds and lose the wrinkles. You really think it's that easy?" Reo crossed her arms over her chest and snorted. "I didn't come here to seduce anyone. You're responsible for making the love connection."

"It's really best that you not make this more difficult for me, Reo. You're valuable to this project, but I won't be undermined. You seem to forget regularly who I am and what I'm capable of. Must I constantly remind you?"

"So, the Eradicator wants us to call her Onlea because she thinks Eradicator would scare the children," Martha said. "What will she do if we slip and call her by her proper name?"

"I don't particularly want to know," Jonathan said. He looked over at Clark, his son, and he was satisfied on a fundamental level. Nothing was perfect, particularly in Smallville, most especially at the Kent farm, but something was very right in the Kent family. Clark was sliding back into his role, not acting and not fighting. "I think we can handle one or two alien refugees for a while."

Martha rubbed at her arms, a chill racing along her spine. "I wonder what they're refugees from?"

* * *

Death came to the Planet Azar in a single night. The sun wasn't shining, but the evening was alive with artificial orange light. The graceful buildings of the government planet had become matchsticks standing in a sea of flame.

The entire world was burning.

Kal-El watched the fires from his prison and cursed the incompetent rebels who thought scorching the world would be sufficient to eliminate the Over Council. The flames had already burned over and past the seat of government and their tombs had never been at risk. A billion aliens perished in the fires, a billion men, women, and children sacrificed, and still he didn't have his freedom.

Retreating to his inner sanctum, Kal-El gazed at his beautiful political map of the galaxy. It was perfect almost confluent red, red for destruction and death. Even Azar was a lovely crimson, but could he be released by death? It wasn't fair that death hid from him, ignored him, wasted itself on people who wanted to live.

"You've failed, young Kryptonian," Evy hissed. She slid forward, her slug form jiggling as she moved. "You've torched our galaxy, but left us trapped. Now we linger here in perpetuity alone. We won't be governing anything but neither are we free."

"Do you really think I'd go through all this and not have a backup plan," Kal-El answered. "The rebels were incompetent, but they aren't the only force of destruction in the galaxy."


	50. Chapter 18 How Do You Spell Finesse?

**- Chapter 18 - How Do You Spell Finesse? -**

Luci wished the ground would swallow her up and end her agony of embarrassment. Ford had challenged her, and she'd drug him tooth and nail off the old alien equipment, but in the process she'd managed to coat herself thoroughly in the greasy black stuff Ford had called hydrocarbon. She had to look terrible, and they were headed out to meet the Kryptonian. Luci actually groaned when they stepped outside into the moonlight, not because she was facing the beautiful boy from Onlea's story with grease on her nose but because of the stars. They stretched out above them forever. The sickening feeling of vertigo set in, and Lucy was certain she would fall right off the world into the sea of stars. It was wide open, not like home where everything was close and safe, and there was always a ceiling to hold you in.

Luci dropped to the ground, clutching the grass and squeezed her eyes shut. She could barely hear someone screaming past the rushing in her ears.

The Eradicator had been carefully composing herself for the introduction of her Kryptonian to the other members of the breeding project, when Luci apparently lost her mind and started screaming. She dropped to the ground, clutching at the Earth and ripping at the grass. "What's wrong with her?" the Eradicator barked. "Reo? Help her."

"Get her back in the barn," Reo replied. She'd seen this form of madness before. It was a terror born of life in space only living in cramped space stations or in the core of mining colonies like Luci and Ford. "It's the outside. She's agoraphobic."

While the Eradicator and Reo bundled his sister away, Ford stared up at the stars without terror or even wonder. He was still floating along on the detached river his life had become. The humans and the Kryptonian were standing across the yard, watching his sister lose it. Why did they look so concerned over his sister? She wasn't anything to them. It had to be fake concern, put on for their benefit. Ford headed across the yard, feeling slightly sluggish in the gravity of Earth, and met them before they could get to his sister. Planting his feet firmly in front of the Kryptonian, Ford tugged at the man's arm. "So you're the Kryptonian," he said. "Hey. I'm talking to you. Are you listening?"

Clark tore his eyes away from the drama between the three women to look at the little boy addressing him so matter-of-factly. "Is she okay?" Clark asked. "Do they need our help?"

Ford looked over his shoulder at the barn where apparently the Eradicator and Reo had retreated with his sister. "I think they've got it. I need to talk to you, if you're the Kryptonian."

What kind of kid was this? Clark wondered. "My name is Clark, and I'm a Kryptonian. I think we should probably go check on your friend."

"She's my sister, and it's okay. She just got scared," Ford said. He looked up at the sky and shrugged. "It's really big out here."

Martha and Jonathan exchanged worried looks. It was one thing to play host to a couple of alien refugees, and a completely different thing when the aliens were hysterical children. They had decided as a family that placating the Eradicator when she was acting benign and politic was much easier than dealing with her when she was angry, and as long as her requests were reasonable they were going to grit their teeth and politely help. Neither of them had banked on any of the refugees being children, young children at that. Jonathan was reminded of Clark when he looked at the red-haired boy. Another lost alien was on their doorstep. "You say it's big out here?" Jonathan asked. "What do you mean? You come from up there." He pointed at the sky. "And it's really big up there."

"I mean it's big out here, wide and open. We come from a little place out there, closed in tight," Ford said. He wanted to tell them Luci was agoraphobic but he didn't know the English word. "Can we talk_, really talk_?" Ford slipped into galactic standard, feeling fairly certain that the humans wouldn't understand him. Then maybe they'd take a hint and let him talk with the Kryptonian. His manifesto tucked safely under his arm, he stared up at Clark, a picture of stern seriousness.

"How old are you?" Clark asked. The kid looked about ten but he acted thirty. He claimed the girl who lost her cool was his sister but he didn't seem overly concerned about her. Dropping down to the kid's level, Clark offered him a hand. "Why don't you introduce yourself, and we can talk...i_n whichever language you'd like_." Clark recognized that speaking in Galactic standard excluded his parents, but if the kid wanted a relatively private conversation it was the way to go.

_"My name is Ford, and my sister back there is Luci. We need somewhere safe to stay, a new home. Earth seems nice enough, but it isn't really safe. I'll need your help to make it really really safe."_ Ford took out his manifesto and started to flip it open, but the Eradicator wrapped her arms around him from behind in some fake semblance of an affectionate hug, temporarily ending his attempt to talk with Clark.

"That got out of hand on me there," the Eradicator said. "Not to worry, the girl grew up inside a mining planet. That was her first glimpse of a sky and she lost her head a bit. Ford here isn't scared of the sky though, are you?"

It was all Martha could do not to try to snatch the strange red headed boy away from the Eradicator. Just watching the machine cuddle a child as though she felt some emotion for him, had her hackles erect and her maternal instincts buzzing.

Apparently she wasn't the only one disturbed by the Eradicator's hug. Jonathan came around her and disentangled Ford from the machine's grasp. "Why don't I take Ford and go check on his sister at the barn? Are you worried about your sister, buddy?"

"Yes, go check on the children, Jonathan. I'd like to speak with Martha," the Eradicator said.

Clark didn't much care for the single-minded stare the Eradicator was leveling his mother with. He was uncomfortably reminded of her penchant for threatening murder at the drop of a hat, and humans were exquisitely delicate creatures. Before Jonathan could drop Ford and get in the middle of things, Clark shook his head at his father and pointed to his eyes. He could watch the Eradicator even if they stepped inside, and he would stop her if the machine got out of hand. There was no reason to abandon the placate-the-Eradicator plan yet. "Weren't you going to take Ford to see his sister, Dad?"

The Eradicator looked at Clark and Jonathan and grinned in what she hoped was a reassuring manner. "I just want to talk with her."

* * *

Sitting on a prickly flake of dried grasses, Reo watched Luci resting in a mound of those same grasses tossed together into a crude bed. Sleeping, the child looked even younger than twelve, too young to be orphaned and alone, too young to protect a baby brother and cater to her mysterious benefactress, Onlea, an insane Eradicator. With a frown plastered on her face, Reo tried to retain the objectivity she'd worked so hard to maintain during their journey. If she remained aloof and was careful, she wouldn't get trapped by the children, trapped into a mother-role she had avoided her whole life. Having children was like deciding to add parasites to your life. They were fundamentally useless creatures that you had to feed, clothe, educate, and endure for the majority of your life.

Calling her an impractical parasite, didn't make Luci seem any less innocent or perfect or pitiful to Reo today.

Luci, opened her eyes and immediately started to breathe rapidly again.

"Hey." Reo snapped her fingers in front of Luci's face and pointed at the ceiling. "We're inside again. You don't need to panic."

It took Luci a second to process that she really was inside, and everything seemed to settle into a more mentally manageable place. "Did I faint? I scared myself a little out there."

"You panicked. It's a physiologic response to noxious stimuli. I wouldn't be ashamed. It's normal when you're raised in a hole to have a hard time dealing with something as big as outside. I've lived most of my life in space stations, so I've seen people raised like you who have problems facing that." Reo pointed to the sealed barn doors and the wide open space stretching out the other side of it.

"Thanks," Luci muttered. Why was Reo playing sentinel, sitting beside her? It wasn't like she liked Luci or her brother? She didn't talk to them while they were stuck on a ship together for months. They had been cargo to her, annoying cargo that needing feeding. For once, the old woman seemed to be willing to treat her like a person, and she wasn't putting on her normal cool airs. Luci wasn't ready to buy the turnaround but at least she hadn't woken up alone. "Is Ford okay? Did he faint too?"

"Ford is fine. That child is fearless," Reo said. "He is still outside."

Luci didn't agree about Ford being fine or fearless. That fearless kid was a fake mask. Her little brother was not fearless. He was a baby, scared of the dark and the miners in their home, everything. Her brother wasn't the cool robot who wasn't afraid and didn't cry. Luci first thought that it was a phase or a game or something, but it wasn't passing. "He's not supposed to be fearless. He didn't used to be."

Reo didn't argue with Luci about Ford. She wasn't a psychologist, but she knew ten year-olds weren't supposed to act the way Ford did. It was probably some trauma induced syndrome caused by all the upheaval or his parents' deaths. Every alien species had its own psychological response to grief and shock. Reo wasn't even sure what the kids were genetically, much less how to psychologically profile them. "I'm sure he'll go back to acting more normal when things calm down."

"Do you think things are going to calm down here?" Luci asked.

Reo looked around, contemplating the pseudo-developed culture that produced the livestock container they inhabited, and she didn't know. Societies on the lower side of development could be scary in their own crude way, and they had high-tech terror along for the ride in the form of their own Eradicator. "Maybe."

* * *

Martha stared across her kitchen table at the Eradicator, unable to fathom what the creature could want from her. She could trace virtually every bit of pain and trauma her family had suffered for more than a year back to this one machine. As ineffectual and infantile as it would be, Martha wished she had her shotgun back so that she could pepper the machine's perfect façade with buckshot. It wasn't likely to cause any real damage, but maybe she could tear away some of the lie, the fake face and flesh that let this machine pretend to be alive. "What do you want?"

"Unfortunately, I seem to need you. First, I tried to be you for the children. I used you as my template. There was the mother-smile and the mother-voice and the mother-clothes." The Eradicator demonstrated each accessory as she listed it. "I don't seem to have managed it very well though. There's an intangible aspect that I can't seem to quantify or replicate, and the children aren't comforted by me."

"You tried to be a mother to those children out there? Did you orphan them first?" Martha asked. "Why would you take on a pair of children?"

"I didn't orphan them personally, but they are orphans. It would be a personal favor to me, if you would care for these two children, Luci and Ford. You have a talent for motherhood. Clark turned out well considering the environment and the society, and you were even able to reclaim your son after the damage to his memory." The Eradicator felt she was perhaps going overboard, heaping on the sincere-sounding compliments, but she wasn't sure how much finesse Martha was going to require. "Will you take on the children?"

"When I take in those children, it will be for their sakes not as a favor to you," Martha growled. "We may not know why you took in refugees, or where you're headed with this, but I'm sure we're going to find out eventually. For your information, being a mother isn't in your voice or your face or your clothes." Martha pushed her chair back, feeling righteous and angry and vindictive all at once. "It's in your soul, something you don't have, and you can't replicate."

The Eradicator smiled and shrugged, apparently not taken aback by Martha's vehemence. "But you'll take on the children?"

* * *

Black coffee, thick and cold sat in the bottom of Gabe Sullivan's cup. There was more to be had in the pot, but he was going to have a hard time sleeping as it was. His mornings started at five AM, and he usually turned in by ten in the evening, which meant he was twenty minutes past his bedtime and counting. Chloe hadn't made it home, and she hadn't called. Most likely she was working on a story, trying to get a last minute article into the Torch, but he wished she would answer her cell phone, or call him. To be honest, he was used to his daughter's independent streak, and nine times out of ten she phoned, but that meant ten percent of the time he ended up over-caffeinated and terribly worried.

Gabe knew he should punish her, or at least have a serious talk with his daughter about her vanishing acts, but it was hard for him being a single parent to exert authority a lot of the time. Resolving to put his foot down, Gabe carried his coffee cup to the sink and tossed the last of his beverage.

He heard the click of the front door opening and closing. Gabe started composing a thorough chastisement.

"Dad, you're up. I should have called, and I'm sorry. Things were crazy, and my phone's battery died," Chloe said. "Can you forgive me?"

His resolve to be stern didn't survive Chloe's quick apology and explanation of her failure to call. "So, was it a big story?" Gabe asked. "Can your old dad have a scoop on the craziness that kept you out tonight?"

Taking a seat at the kitchen table, Chloe shrugged. "It was a story," Chloe said. "We were investigating Mrs. Flutey, one of the school's teachers, but we got a little sidetracked." _I kissed Clark, and he started a fire._

"Did you say Mrs. Flutey?" Gabe frowned and joined Chloe at the table. "Honey, I'm not sure what you were investigating, but I think Mrs. Flutey was on the news tonight. She's dead."

"Dead?" Chloe whispered. Her mind kicked into high gear, running through the possibilities Mrs. Flutey's death could imply. Had Lex been involved in her death? She and Clark sent Lex to investigate. Surely, he wouldn't have killed the woman. "Are you sure?"

"Suicide by all reports," Gabe replied. "What were you kids investigating?"

"Suicide?" Chloe remembered the denial and the horror, the confusion that Mrs. Flutey had feigned. What if it had all been real? Was it possible for her to not know she was a mutant? Had their investigation opened her eyes and caused her to kill herself? The recurring theme of her short life flashed through Chloe's mind, _truth was a powerful thing_. She had never really thought of it as destructive before, but it could be. The truth could kill. "I have to call Clark."

* * *

Almost everyone was in the barn, Martha, Jonathan, Luci, Ford, and Reo. They were working out the details of their newly populous household. It would be interesting to see where they put everyone. Clark assumed he'd be sharing his bedroom with the little boy. He should probably be in there, helping make the decisions and greet the refugees, but he had responsibilities, one very pretty yet unstable responsibility. "Eradicator, I agreed to host your refugees, but I can't play host to you personally. You're not simpatico with my parents' universe, and I won't let them be hurt."

"You're right. They don't like me much," the Eradicator said. "I can't leave just yet, though. There are details that need ironing." _I need your cooperation._ What brand of finesse would it take to get Clark to help her? Reo signed up for a little cash and extortion. The children had been satisfied with a fairy tale. Clark was the centerpiece, the Kryptonian. Maybe it was time for the finesse of logic. If she could explain her mission properly, so that he could understand the simple perfection of her quest, how could he not help?

"Details? Tiny details like why you've been collecting people?" Clark stared at the Eradicator, completely unable to read her smooth passive face. "What's really going on?"

"I can give you the truth, but I would like you to keep it to yourself for a few days while you think about what I have to say," the Eradicator said. "I have a mission, a very human mission when you think about it. If a human notices a species in danger of vanishing, they do everything in their power to preserve that genetic path. It's a logical choice, a conservationist's vision." The Eradicator smiled warmly, the words coming easily now. "Clark, you are an endangered species. Those people I'm collecting are the closest thing to you left in the galaxy. I want to preserve Krypton, her last son. I learned the hard way that preserving an individual to eternity doesn't really work, but through life, the crazy virus that is genetic potential, Krypton can survive."

The Eradicator sighed and caressed Clark's cheek. "You just have to have hundreds and hundreds of children."


	51. Chapter 19 Just Breathe

**- Chapter 19 - Just Breathe - **

The Eradicator didn't wait for Clark to regain his composure. She didn't give him a chance to say no. She slid a finger under his dropped jaw and pushed his mouth closed. "Think about it." Impishly, she grinned and took flight.

"Hundreds?" Clark stumbled to his feet and stared into the sky where the Eradicator had vanished. "Eradicator? I don't need to think about it. No! The answer is a big solid definitive N-O. Eradicator?" Clark stared at the barn, his heart rate galloping forward, faster and faster. Those kids, that old woman, the Eradicator brought them for baby-making. The thought of fathering hundreds of children on a kid and a grandmother, left Clark choked, hardly able to breathe. His parents were going to freak out. It didn't occur to Clark that the hyperventilating he was doing on the porch might be construed as freaking out too.

The barn door creaked open and one of the aliens shuffled out. The old woman had a load of electronics in her arms. She made her way across the back yard and onto the porch. Clark stared at her, horrified at the thought of the Eradicator's plans. This woman couldn't know what that machine had in mind for her. Clark felt like a total pervert just thinking about it himself. He couldn't speak or even meet the poor woman's eyes.

Reo watched the Kryptonian, acutely aware of the jittery expression he was sporting. Could the Eradicator have enlightened him already? Did he know about the quirky quest? Was he imagining procreation with an old tired senior citizen? That had to be the image he was struggling with, and damn her stupid soul, her feelings were hurt. When she knew a man hadn't considered her as a woman or a potential mate, their lack of interest couldn't hurt her, but this blatant distaste was like a slap in the face. Marshalling her dignity, Reo ignored the boy's expression and pointed to the door. "I'm Reo. Would you mind demonstrating the door's mechanism?"

Clark opened his mouth to answer the older woman. He should be polite, introduce himself, open the door, but a strangled whisper of a syllable was all he managed to utter. His jaw working reflexively, Clark did the only thing he could think to do, he vaulted over the back rail and ran away.

Reo sighed and set her equipment down. It was quite heavy and there was no way she was going to figure out the door with her arms full. The Kents were trying to talk Luci through attempting to cross the yard, and Ford seemed to think the humans weren't to be trusted alone with his sister. She could conceivably be stuck on the porch all night.

The odd Earth-door issued a silent challenge, and Reo smiled at it. She pulled out her tool kit and started tapping at the alien structure.

* * *

A stone hull that used to be a home smoldered under the steady rain of firemen's hoses. Lex sat back and watched them work, already planning a new home. Whether this house was lost by attack or accident, Lex wasn't going to let a little fire chase him out of Smallville or even off his hill. He could reuse the stone; rebuild his mansion down to the last nook and cranny. The stars above shone down, soon to be replaced by the red hues of sunrise. He should really head into town and find a hotel room before the reporters found their way to the scene of the fire. A Luthor's house burning wasn't a crime or a tragedy. It was news.

At least the garage had been spared. His auto collection wasn't nearly as valuable as the art in the house, but he got more tangible pleasure out of it. Lex strolled into his garage, snatched a set of keys off the wall, and wandered down an aisle of classic mustangs. Many of his cars were new, slick and modern, but some of the best were antiques. Tonight, Lex was in the mood for an old car, a car with history. He slid behind the wheel of a black 1964 Mustang and inserted the key.

Without a word to the fire marshal or the police, Lex left them all behind in a cloud of dust.

* * *

Two children so pale they looked more like ghosts than flesh and blood, Luci and Ford were a mystery. Martha tried to imagine the life they had to have lived, inside a mine since birth, never seeing the sky. Would their skin pink up in the sun? Would they blister?

Would these children accept help from a pair of humans?

Perhaps most importantly, what did the Eradicator want with them?

"I'm ready to try," Luci said. Ford was pushed close to her, and he kept staring at the humans like they might rear up and bite. It wasn't fear he was projecting, just hostility and mistrust. "My head knows that it's safe. I just won't look up until I can be less irrational about it."

Martha offered Luci her hand and smiled reassuringly. "We won't let you go. Just remember to breathe."

Reluctantly, Ford allowed Martha to take his sister's hand. The humans were annoying, acting like they cared, acting like noble loving savages. His sister could hold their hands and let them lie to her, but he knew better. Aliens were dangerous. You had to watch them all the time.

Jonathan led the way out of the barn and refrained from gasping, despite the sight that greeted him, as any show of shock might scare Luci and set her off. Reo, the older refugee, had taken the back door complexly off its hinges and seemed to be tinkering with it. Jonathan shared a strained smile with Martha and headed forward. "Reo, isn't it? Was something wrong with the door?" Jonathan asked.

Reo glanced up from her tinkering long enough to shrug. "Your son needed some air. He left before he could show me how to work the door, so I decided to figure it out for myself."

"As long as you put it back," Martha said with surprising aplomb. Getting Luci, the hysterical alien, inside was priority number one. She could deal with a doddering alien that liked to take things apart second. As for Clark taking off and abandoning his parents with three new aliens and an Eradicator on the farm, that would be a whole other discussion.

"Martha, do you think you can get Luci settled in the guest room? Ford and I will head back for their things," Jonathan said. Ford redoubled his grip on his sister, now convinced that humans were trying to separate them. "Or I could help Reo get the door back up?"

Nodding acceptance of his plan, Martha bundled the children in front of her up the stairs. As soon as the children were out of earshot, Jonathan addressed Reo cautiously. "So, Onlea rescued you and those children. I suppose you're pretty grateful to her."

Reo didn't answer at first, instead finishing the tracing a pattern over the white-washed door. "I know what she is, and what she pretends to be for those children's peace of mind. You should know that I'm not particularly fond of my savior. She has a nasty tendency to attach strings to her helpful rescues. Not to mention her tendency to intimidate others into her schemes. We aren't friends."

Good, Jonathan thought. Any enemy of an enemy was fast-tracked to friendship. "You know why she's come back? You know what she wants?" Jonathan asked. "It would be good to know."

Reo scanned the human male critically, trying to sum him up with her eyes. He was tall enough, blond enough, handsome enough; an exceptional human specimen according to the standards the Eradicator supplied. Not that Reo particularly cared what kind of specimen the human was. His adoptive son took the concept of exceptional specimen to a new level, and that was the male the Eradicator had her penciled in to seduce. Reo managed not to cringe or choke on the thought. "Actually, I think you'd be happier not knowing the whole truth, but that's just me."

* * *

Cruising down Smallville's deserted main street headed for the other side of town and the nicer hotel, Lex couldn't have missed the lone figure pacing in front of the closed Talon. Gliding to a smooth stop, Lex watched Clark's nervous circuit speculatively. Did his friend start a fire tonight? Sliding out of the car, Lex let the door slam to announce his arrival. "If you want coffee, you still have several hours to wait here. I'd invite you to my place for a cup, but the old house went up in flames."

Clark spun on his heel, obviously shocked to see Lex. "Lex, your house, I'm sorry about that." Once the apology was out, his mouth snapped shut. Amnesiac idiot, Clark scolded himself. He was so terrible at keeping secrets straight. Aliens did not apologize for setting fires that they were pretending not to have set. Groping to cover his lapse, Clark ad-libbed. "I didn't do anything to help, or stay behind until you got home. I'm a terrible friend."

"What were you going to do, put the fire out single-handedly? Sticking around to hold my hand was thoughtful of Chloe, but I'm a big boy," Lex replied. Clark had the uncomfortable look of a young man who was tap-dancing in a conversation. "Pacing downtown in the wee hours of the morning, what's wrong, Clark? Did something happen?" Did you burn down my house? Are you worried about the dead mutant?

Clark had wanted to go to Chloe when he ran away from the insanity at home, but Chloe might trigger another hormone induced fire so he'd stayed away. He considered heading to Pete's house, except Pete was hospitalized. Visiting Lex's smoldering rubble hadn't even crossed his mind, but this friend found him, and he was asking friendly speculative questions. "Yeah, lots of stuff happened, but nothing you can help with," Clark said. "I should go home."

Lex looked up and down the street for a parked truck. "Maybe you'd like a ride home?"

It was unthinkable bringing Lex home tonight with all the aliens and the Eradicator. Clark shook his head and massaged his temples briefly. "I can make it, thanks." Instead of walking past Lex and heading for home, Clark met Lex's eyes and held them for the first time in the conversation. The hairs on his arms rose and Clark had the strangest feeling that Lex knew...that he knew everything. "Bye." Clark walked past, but he couldn't help himself. He turned back and apologized again, this time for lying constantly and for refusing a simple gesture of friendship. He apologized for everything without explaining anything.

"Sorry."

* * *

Martha set three steaming cups of coffee onto the table and joined her husband with their new houseguest. The kids were tucked into bed, and it was time that they tried to get a few things straight. "I have milk and sugar," Martha offered.

Shaking her head, Reo eyed the black fluid she'd been offered. The aroma wasn't offensive, but she wasn't about to just drink the stuff. She fished a twig-sized silver probe out of her pocket and dropped it into the beverage. "Thanks for the use of the couch, and the..." Reo removed the silver probe out and scanned the readout. "...mildly addictive stimulant."

"You're welcome, I guess," Martha said. "Now, maybe you can help us. Jon says you know why the Eradicator is back. Any information you have would be invaluable."

"Unfortunately, I'm sworn to secrecy. If you aren't aware, it isn't healthy to defy an Erad...Onlea." She looked around the room as though someone might be lurking in the shadows. Reo sipped tentatively at the black liquid, smacked her lips lightly and downed the entire cup. "Tasty. What do you call it?"

"It's coffee," Jonathan said. He glared across the table at the elderly woman and her eerie silver eyes, the only feature that would keep her from passing for human. "Can we have a hint, anything?"

Reo looked between the humans and sighed. "What would you do if I said Onlea was going to dress you all as Bzner dancers complete with rows of fuscia gron hats, and that she was going to make you dance the seventh moon dance three times a week? You couldn't do anything to stop her, except say no. And when you say no, you accept the consequences." Reo looked between the two humans, wondering if they understood those consequences. "You're going to want to say no. Her requests are unreasonable, tasteless, and usually frightening, but you need to think about the consequences when you do."

"We have a good understanding of her consequences," Martha said. "The last time she was here, that thing threatened our lives, stole our son, and when she sent him home, he'd been hurt so badly that he couldn't even remember us."

"We'd like to minimize consequences this time. You could help us if you would," Jonathan added.

"I can't help you," Reo said. She stared into her empty cup and frowned dispiritedly. "I can't even help myself."

* * *

Upstairs, tucked safely under cotton blankets, two siblings reclined but only one of them slept. Luci stared up at the ceiling and the safety it was supposed to imply, but she didn't really feel safe. The blankets here were too scratchy, completely unlike the smooth synthetic materials from home, and it was too warm. Not to mention the pretty Kryptonian that she'd wanted to make a good impression on. He probably thought she was completely insane. Luci let Onlea's mission fill her mind, distract her from all the horrible facts of her reality.

Luci groped under the covers for her brother's hand and gripped it. She was going to do exactly what their savior asked whenever she asked it. Onlea was going to be happy. They were going to have a home. When Ford figured out how perfect everything had become, he was going to feel safe and secure. He was going to let himself be okay. Hopeful if not completely secure, Luci drifted into sleep.

* * *

Home was in front of him, but Clark didn't rush forward and head inside. The Eradicator had desecrated his home, filled it with aliens that she expected him to procreate with...a lot. How was he supposed to tell his parents about the machine's grand scheme? How were they going to thwart the Eradicator today when they failed miserably the last time she showed up?

"I'm not playing stud for that machine," Clark whispered. "She can't make me."

He might as well get the worst over with, and tell his parents what the Eradicator wanted. Maybe then they could figure out how to dissuade her. Clark strode onto the porch feeling slightly less panicked than when he had run for the hills. At least his heart wasn't beating out of his chest anymore. Hopefully his parents wouldn't be too upset with him for running off, but he had needed the space, a minute to breathe, a moment to think.

His parents and Reo were huddled together around the kitchen table, cups of coffee at hand. Clark grimaced, unsure if he really wanted to talk about everything in front of one of his prospective... Partners? Lovers? Brood mares? Clark shuddered, unable to find an appropriate title for Reo's role in the production of those hundreds and hundreds of children the Eradicator had planned. "I'm home. Sorry about running off. Did everything go okay?"

Martha smiled and rose, enfolding her son in a quick hug. She was more than a little paranoid about her son vanishing with the Eradicator around, and just seeing him after a brief absence was enough to cause a rush of euphoric relief. "Disappearing is never a good idea, but you're going to give your old parents a pair of heart attacks if you try that stuff right now. Understood, mister?"

"I really am sorry. I panicked," Clark said. He glanced at Reo out of the corner of his eye and steeled himself to have this conversation in front of her. He could do this, couldn't he? "You may as well know that the Eradicator has big plans involving me and her refugees. Big scary plans that she saw fit to share with me tonight."

Jonathan nodded, simultaneously relieved and worried to finally hear what was going on. Reo was blushing bright scarlet and she had pushed her chair back. "Tell us about her plan, son," Jonathan said. "We'll figure out how to deal with it."

"Good, unless you're ready to be grandparents we really need to deal with it." Clark took the seat next to his mother, fixing his gaze on her decorative haystack salt and pepper shakers. This was too embarrassing, and he couldn't bear to see his parents' expressions. Reo wasn't the only one at the table blushing. Clark felt his face burning while he tried to find the right words to explain. "She wants me to have children, a lot of them, starting right now. Reo and Luci are the ladies she's picked out to have those children."

"You're kidding," Martha said. Dealing with the Eradicator usually meant death threats, physical attacks, and kidnappings. Martha was taken off guard by Clark's unexpected statement. She couldn't contain a semi-hysterical laugh. Even though the situation wasn't funny, even though it was horribly twisted, Martha couldn't quite believe it was really the Eradicator's plan. "Reo has to be sixty and Luci is just a child. God, you're just a child. What is that machine thinking? You can't be serious. She can't be serious."

"That damn thing is always serious. The only question is how do we say no to her without anyone getting hurt?" Jonathan whispered. Judging from the pale skittish look on his son's face, Jonathan wouldn't need to give his son the safe-sex talk. An alien machine requesting your sperm for a few hundred children would scare anyone into understanding the value of birth control. Control...that was their issue really. They had no control when it came to the Eradicator, and that made a silly plan so crazy that it was laughable, remarkably chilling. "She can't expect you to just accept that kind of directive. You're a teenager."

"Yeah, a teenage endangered species to her way of thinking," Clark replied. "It all sounds pretty logical when she's explaining it, except that I'm not a Siberian tiger or a bison, and I'm not ready to sign my life over and become a full time sperm donor." There was a high-pitched note of panic in his words that Clark couldn't restrain. "I can't even wrap my head around being the father of one kid, much less hundreds." His mom had laughed earlier, but she was crying now, crying and shaking her head. "What are we supposed to do?"

Reo watched the humans coddle and commiserate with their adoptive son, but she couldn't restrain herself from speaking up. "As distasteful as the machine's prerogative is, can you afford to defy her?" Reo headed for the stairs and the bed the Kents had shown her earlier. She couldn't just walk away though. Reo spun on her heel and returned. She wanted to tell the humans and the Kryptonian about the possibilities that had been buzzing in her head for months. She had plans for stalling the Eradicator, deceiving her, and avoiding her without suffering physical harm. She wasn't foolish enough to think the Eradicator had withdrawn so far that she couldn't hear every word they said. Without privacy, she couldn't enlist these aliens' aid. "I can't openly oppose my savior. I can't say no to what she asks. Resisting her is not healthy." Reo took the well of white powder Martha had called sugar and poured it out on the table. Using the granular substance like a black board, she scribbled a quick note.

_Fortunately, I know how to lie, steal, cheat, and deceive. _

Reo would have been shocked to learn that her cautious, inventive use of human condiments was completely unnecessary. The Eradicator hadn't retreated far, and though she had chosen her resting place with every intention of spying on the humans and her Kryptonian, her entire central processor was focused more than a million miles away.

"Kal, what is it that you need today. I'm occupied," the Eradicator purred. She waited with anticipation for the rich deep tones of the voice that called her from her quest. As deranged as her Kal-El had become, she relished their time together. She recognized the dangerous patterns his logic followed these days, but those patterns didn't frighten her. Kal was exciting. "It will take me time to come to you. I'm in the middle of something."

"Time? I want you here now, yesterday. You will come with all haste," Kal-El commanded. "This cannot wait."

"Whatever this is, it will have to wait," the Eradicator replied. "I will come soon, as soon as I can."

* * *

Staring up at his bedroom ceiling, Clark blinked at the almost imperceptible brush strokes that white-washed the plywood. Counting the miniscule imperfections that a human eye would have a hard time picking out was usually mind-numbing enough to put him right off to sleep, but tonight there was just too much background noise. Too much had happened today. He and Chloe started the day with a mission. They went out there to expose a dangerous mutant.

Now the mutant was dead, Lex's house was burned, and the Eradicator wanted to harness his genetic potential. When you laid it all out, you almost missed the kiss, the potential disaster or miracle that happened between himself and Chloe. Would it affect their friendship? Would it start something deeper? Could he even let that happen with the Eradicator back in town? The last question chilled him. The Eradicator's plans for his genetic future hadn't included Chloe or any other human girls. As complicated as dating him might have been before the Eradicator returned, now it might be deadly. How was he supposed to keep Chloe safe? The answer was so simple it made his stomach turn over. He couldn't keep her safe, not with the Eradicator running around, not if he was dating her.

Clark wasn't so caught up in his own internal monologue, that he missed his door squeaking open. He propped himself up in bed and squinted at the figure silhouetted against the hall light. Ford, the youngest alien kid, entered quickly and shut the door behind him.

The pad he had carried about like a security blanket was clutched under his arm. "I need your help," Ford said. "You're the only high being here. My sister and I aren't safe here. Low aliens, aliens like humans, can't be trusted. We have to make sure that they can't hurt us."

High beings? Low aliens? Clark frowned at the kid quizzically. "No one is going to hurt you or your sister. You're safe here. The humans don't even know you aren't a human."

"Low aliens can be stupid. They can hurt you for no good reason." Ford opened his book, his manifesto. He felt tense and taunt like the cool detached river he floated on was about to overflow its banks. "These are my plans, so we can be safe."

Clark looked into the book, childish drawings and notations filled the pages with bizarre scenarios, some of which made sense and others that just didn't. One looked like a plan to build a society underground complete with stick figures illustrating the concept. Another seemed to depict Ford and his sister conquering the world. If Ford weren't frowning at him so seriously, Clark might have laughed out loud.

"You don't need to worry about the humans or anyone else," Clark said. "I'll protect you. I promise. Nothing is going to hurt you." It didn't occur to him that he was spouting a lie that adults had been telling children for more than a million years. No one could guarantee safety. No one could protect a child from everything.

But it was a lie Ford needed to hear.

The shock-induced objectivity crumbled, and Ford began to cry.


	52. Chapter 20 A New Equilibrium

**- Chapter 20 - A New Equilibrium -_  
_**

_...Our Crows put in quite a showing against the Bakersville Huskies, routing our county rivals..._

Chloe checked her statistics page for the stupid football score. This far into the year she shouldn't have been stuck still writing the sports column, but the membership drive hadn't produced a single sports-oriented member. No one wanted the column, and Chloe would have let the section drop, except that the student body loved it. According to their readers' poll over fifty percent of students who opened the Torch were looking for an article on the week's sporting events.

Chloe had tried foisting the duty off on a freshman, but they seemed to be aware of her shortage of personnel. The little weasels had threatened to quit. Secretly, Chloe was glad to have the extra work this week. Everything had been so promising with Clark at the beginning of the week, and then he'd started avoiding her. She knew he was afraid about starting any more fires, but her journalist instincts were humming, not to mention the pricking of her pride. More was going on than Clark had been willing to talk about, she'd stake her future press pass on it. As for the neurotic paranoid girl inside her head who insisted that Clark must not have liked the kiss nearly as much as she had...Chloe just wasn't listening. No, Chloe commanded herself. She wasn't going there, not today. It was just too easy for him to hide at school. Clark was in freshman classes. He had second lunch. Well the boy had to go home eventually. She could wait for him at his house this afternoon, and they could talk... before the neurotic paranoid girl inside gained any more sway over the romantic girl still reeling from her first real kiss.

Turning her attention back to the half-written article in front of her, Chloe started inserting statistics. This article was a waste of her time. A good article was harder to write than quoting statistics. Her article on Mrs. Flutey was the hardest thing she'd ever written, mostly because of the guilt she felt over exposing the poor woman. It was good though, powerful, honest and interesting. It was what journalism was about. Her fingers frozen, Chloe stared at the lines of text unseeing.

One of those freshman weasels with no interest in sports stormed into the Torch office and headed for Chloe's workstation. The girl was obviously excited. She was flushed all the way to her bleach-blond roots. Starting Chloe out of her reverie, the freshman girl slapped her bubble gum pink purse down. "Stop the presses. I have a breaking story for tomorrow's edition."

It took Chloe a second to place a name with the freshman, Beatrice? No, she was Britney. "We don't have presses to stop. Besides we don't start printing until everyone turns in their columns. The deadline isn't until five." This girl had proposed a regular column entitled, The Freshman Beat, which turned out to be a gossipy bit of fluff, more concerned with fashion, dating, and bad haircuts than news. If Chloe was remembering correctly the half-page of shallow nothing she'd turned in this week had been about the color pink and it's implication for fall fashion. If the kid had some real news to replace her essay on pink, more power to her. "You know your column's length. If you want to change the content, you have until the deadline."

"I'll never finish before the deadline. You have to give me an extension, at least until seven or so. I don't type so fast," Britney whined. She could tell that Chloe didn't like her or her work, but their super-serious editor had no concept for her audience sometimes. The students wanted to read about fashion and dating and lip gloss. They'd pick up a Newsweek if they wanted to read something heavier. "This is a great story. Please?"

"Pitch it to me," Chloe said. "If it's really that good, we'll get some resources behind it, and we'll make the deadline."

"Pitch it?" Britney took a deep breath, and launched into a rapid-fire outline of her sizzling exclusive. "Okay, so it's tragic and mysterious and there's major hottie factor. You know Clark Kent right? There are all those rumors about his vanishing act last year, and he doesn't remember his traumatic experience. Enter mystery, which builds up his not insignificant hottie status. The big shy guy has made a quiet splash in the freshman class. I could totally like list maybe a dozen girls who've expressed interest, A-list girls, I'm not talking those loner theater types, CHEERLEADERS. Not that the big shy lug would notice his fan club. So when I'm talking with a friend on the student council who has access to the top two nominees for the freshman class's homecoming court, she tells me under the table that the finalists are Clark Kent and Steven Ryan. Ryan isn't really a shock, I mean please, he's always being elected this or that, but for all the aforementioned reason's Clark is totally news. The gossip mill, which I might add had been moving on to greener pastures, should kick back into high gear." Brittany gestured broadly, her grin widening. "Freshman Homecoming Court Has a Dark Horse Candidate, that's the title I see. We'd need a really smoky sexy shot of Clark. I already checked, and his school picture is not going to work."

Chloe was speechless. Visions of skinny, vapid freshmen girls stalking Clark filled her brain. Heat was rising in her cheeks, and an irrational fear gripped her. _I have no reason to be jealous._ A new image flooded her mind's eye the minute she banished the freshmen on safari. This time it was Brittany on Clark's arm, wearing a pink taffeta homecoming court dress. The image was so sickening perfect, it was infuriating. Without even bothering to save her sports column, Chloe was on her feet. She didn't leave in search of Clark yet though. No, she had a gossip-mongering freshman to deal with first. "No, I don't think so. I'll publish your tangents on the colors of the fall, and the 'new thing' in hair dye, but you aren't publishing an article gossiping directly about another student. Forget it."

"But..." Britney could feel herself puffing up with indignation. "You belittle my work like it has no meaning, and you call my first breaking news story gossip? News and gossip is different. One has facts and sources and purpose. Gossip is malicious and rarely factual. This isn't. It's just news."

"I'm the editor, and I said no. Get over it," Chloe snapped. Spinning on her heel, Chloe left Britney to her fuming. The girl might quit, but at that moment Chloe couldn't have cared less. She'd write the whole damn paper on her own if she had to.

Britney blinked back a fine sheen of tears. Chloe Sullivan, ogre editor, was not going to make her cry. Their assistant editor, Mark, a geeky guy with wild brown hair, left his workstation and offered her a sympathetic smile. "It's not you. Kent is a really good friend of hers. You're right though, he's news, if for no other reason than Chloe wrote a series of articles about his disappearance. She helped get the student body interested in her buddy, and now she wants that attention to go away because he's home and he's shy. Well, that's not how these things work." Mark steered Britney over to an empty workstation. "You get the facts straight, and you write this professional. I'll talk to Chloe about what's news when she gets back." Mark sighed and headed back to his own work. Hopefully, Chloe would see the wisdom of writing a factual professional article to set the record straight as opposed to letting the school gossips blow things out of proportion.

* * *

Setting a fire was no great trick. Humans had been managing it for centuries. The fact that Clark could set a flame or melt your average piece of steel with a glance wasn't such a big deal, as long as he could control it. A row of targets, sand-filled sacks, sat on top of fence posts. Squinting his eyes and tightening his jaw, Clark felt the shift inside his eye that changed the color of the world. Everything was painted red for an instant, and the center of his chosen target blackened without bursting into flame. As though he'd been using his eyes like a Zippo lighter his whole life he marked each target in turn without actually igniting anything.

The Eradicator had been right about mastering his wildfire eyes. Practice did make perfect, but he wasn't particularly ready to attempt a live demonstration. It was one thing to singe sacks while he was standing around alone. With added stimuli like Chloe, anything could happen.

An enthusiastic round of applause erupted and Clark spun. He wasn't quite as alone as he thought. His mother with a sunscreen slathered Luci had stopped to watch his display. Over the past few days, he'd gotten used to seeing the other aliens around the farm, though he'd been avoiding Luci and Reo as much as possible. It was just too weird.

Luci's skin was bright red under a semi-transparent layer of sunscreen. Never having had a sunburn, Clark wondered if it hurt much. Despite his mother's best efforts, the two kids had suffered with varying degrees of sunburn since first meeting ultra violet radiation. Clark hadn't been sure how they would respond to the energy, but the Eradicator hadn't been concerned. It took him years of sun-soaking to really start expressing his genetics. Luci and Ford were hybrids with absolutely no energy stored up. They weren't going to be burning down the countryside or juggling trucks anytime soon.

"Do you think you might be up to seeing a guest? Chloe stopped by. She's in the living room," Martha said. "I think you'll both survive the encounter now."

Clark glanced over his shoulder at the perfectly singed sandbags. Controlling his heat vision wasn't a hurdle he could use to push Chloe away anymore. But he still had to be careful not to anger the Eradicator. He didn't want to hurt Chloe, but he couldn't let the Eradicator get the wrong idea... well the right idea. Keeping his distance was the only way to prevent her from becoming a target. "Did she say anything?"

"Yes, she asked if you were home," Martha said. "I told her, yes."

"You told her, yes? Was that wise?" Clark asked. He had discussed his fears with his parents. Surely they realized the trouble Chloe might get herself into. They were the ones constantly telling him how dangerous the Eradicator was. Was his mother trying to get Chloe killed?

"Clark, you can talk to her," Martha said. "You probably shouldn't go parking at the moment, but talking? You should really at least have a conversation, I think."

Unable to summon a good counter argument, Clark nodded and headed for the house. Luci watched him go acutely aware that he hadn't even really acknowledged her presence. Not for the first time that day she was glad to have her sunburn, great camouflage for blushing little girls. A similarly red face was just visible peeking around the corner of the house. Luci broke away from Martha to see what her brother was sneaking around doing.

"Ford?" Luci hissed. He raised his finger to his lips using the human gesture for shushing. "What are you doing?" she asked more quietly.

He pointed down the hill where an entire flock of geese was grazing. Luci stared at the birds and tried not to feel too overwhelmed. It had taken a lot of mental discipline just to be able to function outside. Wild creatures wandering through her space was almost more than she could handle just then. "What about them?" she managed to whisper.

Turning his wide-eyed excitement fully on her, Ford shook his head at her. "Aren't they pretty?"

Luci shrugged and frowned at her little brother. She missed whatever happened to turn him into a robot, and somehow she'd missed the stimuli that woke him back up too. At least he was almost acting like himself again. He had thrown himself into the humans' farm, investigating cows, climbing trees, and now stalking geese. "They're probably covered in germs," Luci said. "Leave them alone. They might be dangerous."

"They don't look dangerous," Ford replied. He grinned mischievously. "They look soft."

* * *

Chloe wasn't sure what she was expecting from Clark. He kissed her five days ago and they'd scarcely spoken since. He obviously regretted his hasty gesture of affection. He obviously wished he could take it back. When the door opened and she saw him standing there, wind-tousled black hair over somber blue eyes, her breath caught in her throat. She didn't look at his lips, or his chest. Chloe kept her gaze focused on Clark's eyes. If she looked anywhere else, she might just tackle him and initiated their second kiss.

"This is hard," Clark said. How was he supposed to do this? How was he supposed to encourage Chloe to keep her distance without ruining any chance they would ever have together? A rush of wind pushed at his back, and for a moment, Clark imagined that the Eradicator had already arrived. She'd read his mind, and she was going to eliminate the human he was interested in. "It's not really safe," Clark said. The excuse sounded lame to him, but he plowed forward. "You saw what happened at Lex's place."

"If this is about the fire and your heat vision," Chloe said, "We can take things slow until you get things under control, but what's up with this full avoidance stuff? You haven't even been to the Torch offices. You sent the lunch menus by Pete."

She wasn't buying his excuse, Clark realized. "Look, you shouldn't be here. You just... you don't understand."

"Explain it," Chloe said. The inner voice that had been insisting that Clark didn't want any more kisses or anything else from her was growing stronger and more insistent. Her eyes were burning, and Chloe knew that if she didn't leave soon she was going to betray herself and cry. Biting her lip cruelly, Chloe waited for Clark to bumble out with another lie, another excuse to push her away. She should never have kissed him. She'd killed their friendship as surely as Clark had destroyed Lex's house.

But Clark wasn't alone in the entryway anymore. He'd been joined by a tall sexy woman in the blink of an eye. Chloe stared without recognition while the woman draped herself over Clark, pouting her red lips playfully and allowing her long silky black hair to tumble across his chest. "He's scared that I won't approve of you, dear," the woman purred.

Chloe's breath caught in her throat and she stumbled backwards. Recognition nearly floored her. This was the Eradicator. This was the creature that attacked Chloe in the woods a year ago, who stole Clark away and returned him devoid of memories. Her spine stiffening, Chloe's self conscious fear dispersed to be replaced by anger. "Don't touch him," she commanded. "Leave him alone."

And then Clark was in front of her, blocking the Eradicator from view. He was shielding her, Chloe realized, and not just in this moment. He'd been protecting her for a week now, protecting her from the Eradicator. "Leave her alone," Clark said. "She's not a threat to you or your plans. There's nothing between us."

"You are a bad liar, Clark," the Eradicator said. "Don't worry. Genetic diversity is the idea. Some human hybrids in the program will be fine. The Kryptonian genetics will dominate." She strolled across the room and headed up the stairs at a nice sedate, human pace. "I came to visit with Reo. You two have fun."

"Hybrids?" Chloe asked. "What's going on here? When did that crazy woman come back? Who's Reo?"

Still staring up the stairs dumbfounded, Clark took a moment to answer. He spun around and gripped Chloe's shoulders. Shaking his head, he mouthed silently, "She can hear." Then he shushed her for good measure and led her to the kitchen. He gave Chloe a pen and paper and took one of his own.

_Well, the Eradicator just gave you her stamp of approval. You should be afraid now. She just invited you to have a few of my children - a few of the thousands she'd like me to father in the near future. _

Stuffed into a corseted top of synthetic black fabric, Reo stared at herself in the mirror and tried to keep a disgusted sneer off her face. She looked like a flabby, gray version of the Eradicator. "You think this will do it for Clark?" she asked. "I can hardly breathe."

The Eradicator paced around her and frowned unhappily. "I think you're going to have to sell yourself." She pushed Reo up into a straighter posture, fluffed her hair, and pinched some color into her cheeks. "I expect you to have conceived by the time I return."

"You're leaving?" Reo fought to keep elation from bleeding through her voice, but it was hard. "Gone to pick up more project members?"

The Eradicator shook her head and sighed. "This is a different project, but I expect you to keep our project on track. Do you understand? You're in charge of keeping things in control while I'm gone." She patted Reo's plump stomach and smiled. "Conceive while I'm gone, and we will be in good shape."

* * *

It doesn't matter how clearly a statement is written, if it's unbelievable enough, comprehension can be slow. Chloe stared down at Clark's neatly slanted handwriting and read the story he had written for the fifth time. "You're serious," she whispered. "This is for real?" Clark shushed her again, and Chloe wrote her question down. _What are you doing? How are you going to stop her? She wants you to father all these... kids?_

Her jealous contemplations about freshmen girls and the homecoming court suddenly seemed petty and insignificant. Clark was being pimped by an insane alien machine.

_We're stalling_, Clark wrote. _But we don't really have a solution._

Stalling... Chloe set down her pen and took a deep breath. "I'm glad you finally decided to let me know what was going on." She looked toward the stairs pointedly. "I have the Eradicator's approval? Then we should start the human mating ritual. It can take years to complete it properly."

She took her pen back up and scribbled onto her paper. _I can stall with the best of them._ Forget the alien girls. She'd keep Clark so tied up in human mating rituals - dating, that the Eradicator would regret ever giving them the go ahead. "We're going out tonight. Pick me up at seven."


	53. Chapter 21 Survival

**- Chapter 21 - Survival -**

The Planet Azar burned for seven days before the fires were controlled. It was ten more days before the survivors began to emerge from the rubble, galactic concerns replaced with a drive for food and shelter and respite from war. Under the charred layers of twisted metal that used to be the central government of the Galaxy, a different set of survivors continued quietly, safely entombed in their ancient seats of power.

Kal-El couldn't close his eyes; his mechanical synapses were a constant. There was no rest here, no silence, no sleep. So he shut down his processors, one at a time, sealing off the bits of his resources until all that remained amidst the crush of an entire civilization's learning was the core of his being. But Kal-El did not recognize himself. He had the form of a man, the shadow of what he was, without touch or life. He rubbed his hands on the shag carpet of the facsimile of his elementary school library without feeling the familiar scratch on his numb fingers.

Why didn't it work? The incompetent fools burned Azar and killed and destroyed, yet they didn't destroy the Over Council. The seats of knowledge and power had been left intact through it all. Kal-El grimaced ferally and dug his nails into the palms of his hands, wishing he could feel pain...wishing he could just sleep.

But Kal-El wasn't alone. Since before his mind was ever uploaded, the seat of Krypton's learning had been invaded and pillaged. The eldest ascendant, Evy, watched the child Kryptonian struggle through the muddled agony of his existence, and felt no guilt for her part in poisoning his mind. Sane Kryptonians were too stable, too predictable. She knew better than to let a sane Kryptonian join the council, not when she wanted things to end.

So, after centuries of waiting for something to change that might end the Over Council, Evy, branched out to try and destroy the system from within. Starting a galactic war wasn't something she was willing to do, but making the Kryptonian ascendant uncomfortable had seemed an ideal opportunity to create a crisis. Kryptonians were an impressive race, and if their ascendant was uncomfortable enough, Evy felt certain she could at least gain an ally. So she damaged the Kryptonian seat of power from within, so that the mind implanted would be limited and uncomfortable in its new home. What should have been a full simulation of life, with sensation and people and the ability for the mind to sleep, was a monochromatic unchanging world that the Kryptonian couldn't bear.

Granted she had not forseen the degree of discomfort her damage would cause. The madness of Kal-El and the war he started went far beyond any repercussion she could have predicted. The prospect of finally ending the waiting, of ending the Over Council left her with no regrets. She bitterly wished it could have really ended. She wished her mad ally could have achieved his goal.

"You failed." The slug-like eldest ascendant slipped from the shadows into Kal-El's mental sanctuary, its chameleon-like skin a dismal black. "I thought you would end this. You made me hopeful."

Glaring up viciously, Kal-El rose and strode toward the projection of his ally. "How do you continually invade here? This is my mind, my sanctuary, and I don't need you here in this moment you disapproving maggot."

The eldest ascendant's color shifted to a warm pink, and she grumbled with a sound almost like a laugh. "Yes, this tiny enclosure is your sanctuary and you are entitled to it for all eternity." She slid across the floor, her alien body segments contracting and relaxing. The glowing model of the galaxy cast the library in crimson twilight. "You did make a good go of it though. It was a destructive war."

"I asked you to leave." Kal-El strode across the room to the red glowing model and smirked. After his uninvited visitor had left him in peace, he whispered. "I'm not done yet"

* * *

With Clark by her side, Chloe stood facing Smallville High. They were dating, a couple, and the crazy butterflies beating around her chest hinted that Clark might kiss her at any moment. Part of her really wanted the public display of affection, the proprietary kiss. As much as she'd rolled her eyes at other girls and their octopus boyfriends, she wanted the whole school to know that things had changed between her and Clark.

"I should head to my first class. It's all the way down on the computer corridor." Clark rubbed his neck and smiled nervously, as though he wasn't sure what he should do. He leaned a bit as though he was going to kiss her goodbye, but a crowd jostled him and he pulled back abruptly.

Chloe smiled, suddenly inspired. She went up on her tiptoes and gave Clark the proprietary kiss. "Stop by the Torch at lunch, okay?"

A hint of a blush on his cheeks, Clark nodded. "Okay."

Chloe strolled into the Torch office, her head spinning. She and Clark were dating, having public displays of affection. Technically they were under the scrutiny of a maniacal machine that scrambled brains as a hobby, but Clark had wanted their kiss; he wanted to keep her safe. He had only avoided her to protect her. All they had to do now was figure out how to defeat the Eradicator once and for all so that Clark didn't end up with a couple thousand bundles of joy before he was twenty.

The small bank of the Torch's computers wasn't deserted. Mark, the assistant editor, beat her in this morning. He dropped the folder with the final draft of the Torch in front of her. "I finished the layout last night before I went home," he said. "I know you usually do that in the mornings before we go to print, but there's an article on page two that needed a bit of extra attention, and I wanted you to look at it in context before you made a call on it."

"Okay," Chloe said. She frowned at Mark, certain from his expression she wasn't going to like page two. The top half of the page opened with an article about SAT prep courses, but the bottom half drew her attention almost immediately. There were four freshmen pictured, but only one mattered.

Where had they gotten that picture of Clark? He was frowning and it felt like he was staring right off the page at her, like he might ignite the building from that inanimate picture. "I told Brittany, no," Chloe snapped. "You shouldn't have wasted your time helping her put this together."

"You haven't even read it. It's factual, clear, unbiased, and interesting to the average freshman." Mark crossed his arms over his chest. "You should at least read it"

He gathered his books and left for his first class. Mark could make her feel two inches tall with almost no effort when she was being unreasonable. With a sigh, Chloe reluctantly sat down to read Brittany's submission to the paper.

Chloe combed through it three times looking for an unbiased reason to reject it, but there wasn't one. Brittany had listed the nominees and in her pseudo-gossipy fashion had run through the likelihood of their winning a ride on the paper-mache float. Chloe sighed and folded the paper. She'd just have to warn Clark that he was about to get a new dose of publicity.

With aliens and Eradicators on the farm, he probably wouldn't even care about one more small thing at school.

* * *

The Eradicator felt no discomfort at the rough ride she had purchased through a black market trade route. A bit of jostling would not phase or bruise her, and the criminals secret transportation tunnels were the last semi-reliable means of getting anywhere in the galaxy anymore. Thanks to her Kal-El, the only trade and order left in the galaxy belonged to the deeply entrenched criminal syndicates. Their infrastructure had survived his war. She let her processor speculate probabilities on the form of government they would impose on the galaxy. She seized upon the most likely and smiled grimly at the picture it painted.

A fiefdom or kingdom system, would rise with each syndicate operating a territory of systems, no longer criminals as they would write the new laws for their worlds. As with any young government system, there would be squabbles and blood shed to settle the lines of power, but the galaxy would have its new order. It would be a system ripe for the will of a Kryptonian and his Eradicator. With the criminals becoming kings, they would need new criminals. And she was a good criminal.

With her eyes closed and all her consciousness focused inward, the Eradicator envisioned a future with Kal-El commanding her to fight and kill for him. She envisioned a future in which he valued his Eradicator. She envisioned a future in which he would touch her, where he would love her...

Her intelligence retraced that last admission carefully nearly a billion times over the next few seconds, unable to properly compute the impulse that spawned the desire for an emotion that she couldn't even quantify. After an eternity of contemplation she determined that it was another glitch left over from her assimilation of the human Chloe's memories, and she filed the impulse away.

* * *

Reo-Ra was not wasting her brief respite from the Eradicator's supervision. Rather than use the time to seduce Clark, she had pulled together every bit of space-grade technology she could find. Those circuits, shields, and bits of alloy were her ticket off Earth and away from the Eradicator. She just needed to patch them together. Reo surveyed the clutter of junk she had assembled and smiled smugly. She had always been good at puzzles. Now she just needed a safe place to assemble her escape pod. The humans' barn wouldn't suffice. She needed a place that the Eradicator wouldn't go or see if she retuned unexpectedly.

Unfortunately primitive mudballs were not rife with Eradicator-proof sanctuaries. Reo spotted a Tostel Converter amongst the goods she had stolen from the Eradicator's ship, and an idea blossomed. She could hide outside with the human livestock, behind a simple Tostel dome. "You are a genius old girl," Reo said.

She started pulling the components she would need when she spotted a pair of golden eyes gazing out of a pile of hay. Reo hesitated a moment then she sighed. "What do you want kid?"

The pair of eyes blinked and Ford rolled out of his hiding spot, sending dried plant materials showing into delicate ship components. "I was waiting for the cows to come back so I could ride one," he said. "What are you doing?"

"I'm building something. Scientists do that. They build things," Reo explained defensively. "Now get out of here so I can think."

"Onlea wouldn't want you to be out here building things." Ford sat staring at her quietly, his sunburned nose pink beneath a thick layer of human sunblock that was now decorated with small fragments of hay. Reo stared back, unwilling to discuss what the Eradicator would think of her construction project. Ford finally looked away, running a hand over the dirty cream that was now mostly gone from his red arms. "I should get more sunblock."

"You are burned to a crisp." With the excessive layer of medicine the human woman had been slathering on the children, Reo wondered why they were still both sporting such royally red burns. Abruptly, she pulled her tool bag over and fished a silver can out. It was half-full of sweet smelling yellow cream. "I studied suns for most of my life. This will protect your skin." She ran a finger through the white sunblock on his face, sniffed it, and nearly vomited. "Clean this worthless animal fat off, and rub my cream over everywhere that might be exposed. You just need a thin layer and it should be good protection for at least sixty solar days." She pushed the can into Ford's hands. "Share with your sister and bring me back the extra."

"Okay." Ford took the can and walked to the barn door where he paused, and turned back. "Reo, when you go, will you take us with you"

* * *

Finding the Over Council under the molten slag that used to be the most vaunted pinnacle of government in the galaxy, wasn't really that difficult for the Eradicator. She could detect the faint emanations of energy that signaled their position. Tunneling through the debris didn't even count as a distraction, the already degraded metals parting before her assault like warmed butter. At the bottom, still shiny and unperturbed by the violence that had destroyed its shell, the Over Council was soon free of its mooring and safely in her hands. The Eradicator stroked her find, a sphere barely larger than her fist.

The amassed knowledge of eight civilizations resided in the tiny receptacle. More importantly, Kal-El lurked beneath that surface. Raising her free hand, she flew out of he tunnel she had opened and made for the safety of her ship. It wouldn't do to be interrupted by refugees while she was talking with her Kryponian.

The Eradicator settled snugly into the pilot's cabin and morphed her hand to interface with the shiny silver sphere.

"Finally." Kal-El's voice was like a whisper in her heart. "My Eradicator has come to set me free."


	54. Chapter 22 Scavenger

**- Chapter 22 - Scavenger -  
**

Lola.

Library.

Song.

The crystal lifeform clung to her core identity, trapped in an energy sink with only kryptonite to keep her company. No radiant energy penetrated the sealed lead box. No calls reached out. For the millionth time, Lola cursed Jonathan for his betrayal. He took her at her most vulnerable when she had expended her energy talking audibly with him and sealed her off from any source of energy renewal.

Normally a few decades without an energy source would mean little to her, but not when she was already depleted. In her current state she ran the risk of losing the spark of energy that was her life unless she could escape her prison.

Early on, she had envisioned Clark rescuing her, but that hope had long since died. Undoubtedly, her assertion that she was going to step back from him had shored up whatever lie Jonathan had fed him. Clark wasn't coming. This was a problem she had o solve herself.

Or die trying.

Determinedly she radiated her desperation at the seams of the lead container, bleeding away the dregs of her energy in a last ditch attempt to reach Clark.

* * *

Sitting on the porch with Chloe, Clark couldn't help feeling completely out of his depth. Going into their first date, he had everything planned and researched. Dinner and a movie hadn't been painful at all. Chloe was a friend first, and they'd had meals and movie nights before. Functional literacy was not a problem.

Now that they were in the endgame of the date, Clark wasn't sure what to do. A kiss was expected, of course, but when would she want to start that? If they were going to make out, his parents' porch wasn't the best spot. Maybe they should relocate to the barn? Or maybe Chloe wasn't ready for that? She was always the one making the moves. She kissed him. She asked him out. Clark knew he was supposed to be taking some initiative...

"So, have you had any word from the Eradicator? Any idea when she'll be returning to check up on her breeding project?" Chloe asked.

"I have no idea," Clark said, "and to be honest, I really don't want to talk about her tonight."

"Of course not." Chloe cut a glance at him, and shrugged. "What do you want to do?"

Clark felt a nervous blush rising up his neck when inspiration struck. "Would you like to see my telescope?"

"I would love to see your telescope." Chloe grinned, barely containing the urge to quip about phallic metaphors. With the nerves that had so obviously descended on Clark, she didn't want to end their date on a negative note.

* * *

Ford sat with his back to the wall while his big sister poked her now-peeling nose under the drapes to watch Chloe and Clark swinging on the porch. "Why are we spying on them?" Ford whined.

With a succinct gesture, Luci shushed him. "Onlea sent us here for a reason, and that reason is Clark. Excuse me for being interested."

With a dramatic eye-roll, Ford ducked under the curtains and peeked too. Clark and his human girl were headed for the secluded barn across the yard. "They're leaving. Why don't we leave them alone? They probably saw your red nose and wanted some privacy."

Luci covered her long-suffering nose self-consciously. "My nose is healing. It isn't red anymore."

"You're right, it's maroon-" Ford reached out as though he was going to touch the peeling skin. "-and really flaky."

"AH!" Luci pushed her brother's hand away. "You're impossible."

"Not sure about impossible, but I am hungry." Ford shrugged and headed for the kitchen where Mrs. Kent might be cajoled out of a cookie. For a second, Luci almost followed him, but she slipped outside instead. Outside had been nearly unbearable when they first arrived on Earth, but Luci had mastered her terror of openness. She headed across the yard toward the barn, unsure of what she'd do when she got there. After slipping her fingers into the crevice of the almost-shut sliding door, someone or something grabbed her arm.

Too scared to scream, Luci spun. "Reo," she gasped. "What are you doing?"

Her gray hair twisted messily atop her head, Reo frowned. "I'm working." She pulled Luci away from the barn door. "You don't want to go in there, very stuffy."

"I don't care if it's stuffy," Luci muttered.

Reo's frown turned sly. "You are precocious, aren't you? Well, I need a hand right now, and Onlea left me in charge, so follow me and be precocious on your own time."

"She didn't leave us to be your laborers. You're supposed to be taking care of Clark and making sure he has kids." Luci smiled smugly. "I think I should tell Onlea how little you've done since she left when she gets back."

"You can tell her what you want when she gets back. I won't be here," Reo replied after a long moment. "And if you're nice, I might take you with me instead of leaving you here to be used like a valuable piece of livestock."

Eyes widening, Luci jerked her arm free. "Onlea saved our lives. She wants to protect us and take care of us. She asked for our help."

Psychology in one's own species could be hard to extrapolate. Across species, the concept became ludicrous for a layperson. Reo had no idea how Luci's adolescent mind had reasoned its way into loyalty to the Eradicator and her mission, but there it was. She didn't want to be rescued from her fate. "Fine, respect Onlea's noble mission, and let Clark get on with things. Your presence will only hinder his chances with the human. And if it's jealousy not curiosity that's plaguing you, you'll just have to learn to share. Your savior's mission doesn't leave any room for monogamy."

* * *

"You can't actually see Krypton's sun in the fall sky," Clark said. "That's the system Fro where the seat of power in the galaxy is located. That's where the Eradicator took me, to a planet called Azar."

Her eye to the telescope, Chloe tried to imagine the distances Clark had traveled in his life, Krypton to Earth, then Earth to Azar and back again. She used to think Lex was the only really well traveled Smallville resident. He didn't have anything on Clark though. "Was it amazing?"

"It was mostly terrifying that I remember."

Chloe rested her head on Clark's shoulder. "What really happened up there? You let little things slip out from time to time, about Lola or Ascension, but you've never explained. Why did she drag you out there? What did the Eradicator do to you up there?" When Clark didn't answer her, Chloe shifted nervously. "You don't have to say. You may not even remember."

"It's a long story, and I did forget a lot of it. But Lola told me most of what I missed." Clark wrapped an arm around Chloe and considered sharing that story for the first time since making it home. His amnesia was the perfect excuse not to talk about Azar and Kal-El. Maybe he wasn't ready for anyone to know about his mental clone that didn't have any memory problems...or maybe he was? "Lola was my friend. Before you get jealous, she's a blue rock, kind of like a meteor rock only low energy and not dangerous. She was a library for Krypton and a sentient being. The Eradicator bought her to Earth and we bonded on the trip to Azar."

"How do you make friends with a rock?" Chloe asked.

"How do you make friends with anyone? We talked a lot." Clark held out his hand palm up to Chloe. "Every one of my cells has a crystal in it, a battery that resonates to the energy in that rock. It's the closest friendship imaginable. You're in each other's minds."

"Now I am getting jealous," Chloe said with a laugh. "When do I get to meet her?"

"You don't. She left."

Chloe could see the muscles working in Clark's jaw, and feel the tension in his arms. "Her loss," Chloe said.

Clark looked down into Chloe's eyes and the tension melted out of him. "I'll tell you about Azar another time, okay?"

For once her unquenchable desire to know paled in comparison to something she wanted more. She wanted Clark to shut up and kiss her already. "Okay."

* * *

"How long have they been in the barn?" Martha asked.

Jonathan looked up from the hand of go fish he was playing with Ford and grinned. "Not too long. If they aren't out in another twenty minutes, I'll go turn on the spotlight and work on the tractor a bit."

Martha nodded seriously and continued rubbing the counter under the window. She was being ridiculous for worrying. Clark could take care of himself and Chloe was level headed. She was good for him.

"The counter is clean," Jonathan said. "Why don't you play a hand with us?"

"I'll go easy on you," Ford offered seriously.

Martha hung up her towel, determined to not be a hovering mother. Just because things were okay for a moment, didn't mean disaster was waiting around the corner. The Eradicator was away and everything was fine if she could just let it be. "Deal me in."

* * *

Luci paced around the pile of junk Reo had bought together and concealed under a Tostel dome. "Won't the human authorities come to investigate the energy field?"

"If they had the technology to detect it they might," Reo replied.

"Where'd you get the life-pod?" Luci pushed at the one piece of equipment that didn't look like it belonged in a scrap heap.

"I found it." Reo tapped her pad and continued her inventory.

"On a planet that can't even detect a crappy energy field?" Luci puffed up indignantly. "I bet you stole it from Onlea."

"I didn't steal it from Onlea," Reo snapped. "Now take this-" She shoved a small beeping device into Luci's hand. "-and follow me." Once outside of the energy dome, the devices vanished behind the invisible curtain Reo had constructed.

"What is this?" Luci drug her feet with every step, reluctant to help the fat unpleasant woman do anything, but equally reluctant to defy her and risk making an outright enemy of her.

"I'm looking for more spare parts. Your device is sending out waves and my device is scanning for reflections or responses." Reo tromped through the grass staring at the readout on her device.

"Why not put them together? This is stupid. Two devices when you only need one." Luci watched Reo make her ungainly way forward and quietly imagined her tripping spectacularly into a pile of animal feces.

"Yes, I could spend a day integrating the two components, or I could borrow you for a few minutes and see if there is anything else worth scavenging in the area." Reo grinned and changed directions. "Kryptonian technology, it's a faint reading, but it's there."

"It probably belongs to the only Kryptonian in the area," Luci said. "Maybe you shouldn't steal from him?"

"Clark is more human than Kryptonian. What use would he have for it? He wouldn't mind me having it, assuming it's his."

Reo was watching the readout on her device, not where she was going. Luci on the other hand was paying attention, and considered warning Reo that she was headed for a muddy hole. Instead she kept her mouth shut until three squishing steps mired the woman up to her calves. With Luci laughing her amusement, Reo groused, "I hate planets."

* * *

Chloe closed her eyes and let their kiss happen. Three kisses into their relationship, Clark was still inexperienced and tentative. She'd get him out of that soon enough. He tasted like some strange combination of cinema snack food and his toothpaste, Raisinettes and mint. Just as Chloe was wondering if Clark would go for second base, the kiss abruptly ended. Clark pulled away from her. She very specifically hadn't ordered a garlic pretzel with this part of the evening in mind. Did she taste like shrimp alfredo or something?

"What's wrong?" Chloe asked. "Are you okay?"

"No." Clark stared out into the moonless night. His face had gone stony and his hands were clenched into fists at his sides. "How could they?"

"Clark?" The rush of wind that stirred her hair and ruffled her shirt, was the only goodbye she got. Clark was gone in a blink, chasing...something. Chloe stared out of the loft, simultaneously offended and worried. The Eradicator had returned? Maybe. After taking a moment to compose herself, Chloe headed back to the farmhouse to bum a ride home and let the Kents know that something was up.


	55. Chapter 23 Prison

**- Chapter 23 - Prison -**

The end rolled inexorably forward, and Kal-El cursed the moments of waiting. His Eradicator was destroying the Over Council, one seat of power at a time, annihilating their existence from the inside. He hoped she might start with him, but that seemed unlikely now.

The wait had been too long.

She would end him…eventually.

Wouldn't she?

Doubt tormented him. Yes, the Eradicator had obeyed him since his ascension, but she was unstable, ever changing and destroying him was asking a lot. It went against every ingrained impulse in her. What if she couldn't destroy him? He had ordered her to build her will in anticipation of asking her to deny the most ingrained of her catechisms. Had it been enough though?

What if she couldn't do it?

What then?

* * *

Oblivious to the cry of pain she had released, Reo sifted through the contents of the lead box she had located, grimacing. A handful of Kryptonite, a shard of Kryptonium, and a white shard of nothing in particular, the haul, was far less than she'd hoped for. For this pittance she'd waded up to her ass in potentially parasite infested planet mud. "Why couldn't we be stranded on a developed world?"

"There are worse places to be stranded," Luci said. "At least there's an atmosphere and the humans don't seem very dangerous."

Reo snorted and shook her head at Luci. Only a child could be so blasé and oblivious. "There are billions of humans on this world, with only a handful of us. Putting aside whether we are superior genetically, intellectually, or technologically, sheer numbers make humans terrifying. And yes, there is an atmosphere—" Reo wrinkled her nose and wiped a layer of mud off her arm. "—but the quality is less than stellar."

Rolling her eyes, Luci turned back toward Reo's workspace, but before she could take a step the Kryptonian that Reo just robbed was standing in front of her. Despite her bone deep desire to tell Reo-Ra that she'd told her so, Luci just stared, mute as usual when faced with Clark Kent and his rather striking blue eyes.

"Luci, where is she? Do you have her? Did you find her?" Clark asked.

Clark's attention didn't linger on Luci when she didn't answer. He had already spotted the real culprit and his almost stolen goods. Apparently Reo didn't need to be told that she had messed up. Her eyes had gone wide, and she thrust the lead box at Clark stiffly. "I was just scavenging. It was discarded in a sinkhole. How was I supposed to know you were keeping it there?" Reo paused, and her brows drew together. "It's not like you have other Kryptonians to keep out of your treasure box, why would you store Kryptonite inside?"

"There's Kryptonite inside?" Clark hesitated, his hand resting tautly on the lid. "Of course there's Kryptonite inside. That's what this box is for, a place to store the dangerous rocks whether they're dangerous or just vaguely threatening to xenophobes."

"What's a xenophobe?" Luci asked, her English skills failing her.

"A xenophobe is afraid of other, of different. In the context of this world a xenophobe is afraid…of us." Reo crossed her arms over her chest and she switched seamlessly into galactic standard to be certain that Luci would understand. "Xenophobia is a sign of low evolution. The fear of alien is primal genetics. Rising above that fear, makes us civilized."

"And succumbing to it?" Clark asked. "What does that make someone?"

"Evil." Luci frowned darkly, remembering the multi-limbed miners who lashed out at the nearest alien in their fear and killed her mother and father in their rioting rage. "Xenophobes are evil."

* * *

The Kents' old blue truck rolled to a stop in front of the Sullivans' slightly overgrown lawn. Mrs. Kent smiled uncertainly at her passenger and shrugged.

"Thanks for the ride," Chloe said. "Would you mind asking Clark to call me when he gets home?"

"No problem," Mrs. Kent said. "You reciprocate if you see him tonight. He knows better than to disappear without an explanation."

Chloe didn't bother to argue that Clark was quite old enough to wander off without explanation when the mood struck him so long as he made it home at a reasonable hour. Besides, Martha Kent couldn't help her over-protectiveness. Who could blame her with everything that had happened to her family over the last year? Even beyond responsible handling of his parents' justifiable paranoia, Clark _should_ know better than to wander off at the end of a date without a proper explanation.

With a quick wave, Chloe jumped out of the truck and headed for her front door. She slipped in as quietly as possible and crept toward the stairs. It was barely nine, well before curfew, and aside from a bad date, there wasn't any reason for her to be home yet. Her dad already had some concerns about Clark, and she didn't want to have to explain that it was a perfectly fine date that was interrupted. As she had no idea what the interruption was or if she was mad about it yet, she didn't want to have to explain it to her dad.

Once safely in her bedroom, Chloe felt herself deflate. "Well that was an ignominious first date." Spreading her arms, she fell back on her bed dramatically and tried to fathom what Clark might have heard or sensed to make him go investigate it. The only thing she could think of was the Eradicator, a defective relic who could put the Energizer bunny to shame.

Chloe's mind sipped seamlessly off on a tangent. Bunnies were good reproducers. They dealt in volume ecologically. Chloe smirked darkly, the Eradicator wanted to start a bunny farm out here on little old Earth. Was she back and discussing the project already with her lead bunny then? She had just started to get angry at the thought of the Eradicator harassing Clark when the tapping started at her window.

Crouched precariously on the slanted roof outside her window, Clark looked in at her and smiled, an sheepishly apologetic expression. Chloe was suddenly very glad that she hadn't already starting changing for bed, not that her clothes or even walls could preserve her privacy if Clark wanted to invade them. She propped her hands on her hips and arched an eyebrow at him, but she didn't make him suffer in suspense that she might close the curtains on him. "Get in here," Chloe commanded. She swung the window open and hauled him forward by the shirt. "I don't know how you planned to explain the house scaling if my dad saw you."

"Sorry, I saw your light and didn't want to run into your dad at the door," Clark said. "I apologize for the fast exit earlier. It was rude, and you have every right to be angry."

"Clark." Chloe shushed him with a light touch of her finger to his lips. She shivered at the impulsive intimate gesture. "Just explain it to me. I'll tell you if I'm angry after. Right now, I'm mainly a little worried."

Clark wondered briefly how acutely Chloe's finger could feel because her brief caress of his lips had set off his senses. The silky whorls of the patterns on her skin tasted of salt and movie popcorn, the scent of lavender soap and nail polish tickled his nose, and then her finger was gone taking its mysterious sensuous treasures with it. As tempting as it was to kiss her again, right then and there, the weight distending his pocket required attention now. "I trust you, Chloe." Clark pulled out the lead box he had taken from Reo and presented it to her. "My friend Lola, the Kryptonium, is in there, and I want you to meet her tonight. I need your help to get her safely out of that box as there's Kryptonite inside. I trust you to open it and get her out for me."

"There's an alien in this box?" Chloe ran her hands along the top, excited to finally meet another alien, but her smile was a bit puzzled. "Why would she hang out in a metal box? How did she end up in there?"

"I think I know," Clark said, "but I'm withholding final conclusions until I ask her myself. The Kryptonite in there will make me ill when you open the box. Lola will be the blue meteor rock. You can't miss her."

"Grab blue rock; close box. I can handle that."

"Then do it." Clark moved back against the wall, anticipating the nauseating drain of Kryptonite's incessant hunger. He could see the sickening green glow of the parasites gleeful feeding from the moment Chloe opened the box. He could feel it in his skin, muscles, bones. He expected to hear Lola call out to him again. He expected a blue wave inside his head. But the wave didn't come. Chloe dropped the lid shut, cutting off the Kryptonite, but where was Lola? He had been so sure that it was her, that she had called to him.

"The only bit in there that wasn't green, wasn't blue either, Clark." Chloe held out a small white crystal that sat in her palm lifeless and inert. "Is this her?"

* * *

Lana circled the Talon cleaning out the booths and straightening up for final closing. The last of her usual teen crowd had cleared out more than an hour earlier, but one patron had lingered. His bald head was just visible in the back booth where he had spent the evening hunkered over a set of ledgers. It couldn't be awesomely secret or important work as he was doing it at the Talon. She didn't begrudge her financial partner the workspace. His home had burned rather recently, taking all his regular sanctuaries with it. But Lex did not have a key, and she needed to get home before Nell sent a search party.

Sliding quietly into the booth opposite him, Lana didn't make an overt move to interrupt. It took Lex several moments to acknowledge her presence. He looked up at her and smiled smoothly. "It's gotten a bit late hasn't it."

"It has," Lana agreed. "Did you have a productive day?" She wasn't exactly clear on what Lex worked on now that his father had taken the fertilizer plant away.

"Not really." Lex started closing the books in front of him and slipping them into the case at his side. "It was much easier to accidentally run into Clark, when he was making it a point to accidentally run into you." Lana's eyes widened in surprise before she could control the impulse. "And I sound like a stalker."

_A little... _Lana shook her head. One didn't run around pitying the local billionaire, typically, but she felt an almost painful surge of pity tonight at how lonely he had to be. "You just miss your friend. Why not visit the farm? He still skulks around there quite a lot."

"You have better coffee."

"I do," Lana agreed. _But I don't have Clark anymore_. Just thinking it made her flush. She had never had Clark, not really. "But I don't think you're going to find what you're looking for here."

* * *

The shape was right, a simple hexagonal based crystal, small enough to fold safely into his fist. Clark stared at the silent white rock on Chloe's palm and hoped that it wasn't really his friend. "I think it's her," Clark said. "She's drained is all."

He started to reach out for her, but stopped himself. He had been floored by Kryptomium more than once, floored by nice blue Kryptonium that still had enough juice to chatter at him. Touching white-Lola could be dangerous. Assuming it was her.

"How do we help her?" Chloe asked. "We can, can't we?"

"She needs energy..."...assuming that she isn't dead. "Skin to crystal contact should offer her the opportunity to charge up, but as low as she is, I don't know that she'll be able to control herself."

"She feeds on you?" Chloe looked down at the cool stone in her hand nervously. "She's a parasite."

That was the word his parents had used to describe her. Clark hadn't been able to make them understand the symbiosis of their relationship. "She isn't a parasite. I get as much as I give, more even. Her species and mine have been associating for thousands of years in a mutually beneficial relationship."

"Sorry, okay, symbiont then. What do you get from her if she gets energy from you?" Chloe asked.

"Fair question. Lola gives knowledge. Kryptonium has the capacity to store ungodly amounts of information in its crystalline matrix. She's a library, an ancient one. Traditionally, in exchange for using her information, a student or anyone would help keep her energy stores replete." Clark smiled bitterly. "Beyond that usually impersonal transaction, she's my friend. She saved my life, and I would love to return that favor."

"Okay, so how do we help without putting you at risk? I mean, vamping you can't be her only meal ticket. You are the only one of you left, and you guys only met recently." Chloe smiled hopefully.

"The sun is an option, but she isn't very efficient with sun storage. I'm afraid she's dying, Chloe, and waiting may push her over the edge." Clark ran his hands through his hair nervously and took a step closer to Chloe and Lola. "I'm going to touch her and when I pass out, if I pass out, you separate us and put her back in the box. If I hold her too tight in my fist and you can't get her out, open the box, and let the Kryptonite weaken my grip long enough to get her away and in the box."

"I don't like your plan." Chloe gazed down at the stone he was so desperate to revive. "What if something goes wrong? We should go to the farm and let your parents help."

Clark shook his head slowly. "They put her in there, Chloe. I'm almost certain. You really think I can trust them to help me help her now?"

"Crap." Chloe bit her lip. "Crap. Crap. Crap. Okay, lie down on my bed so if you do faint we don't wake up my dad." Chloe waited for Clark to settle onto her yellow coverlet. His large frame made the twin bed look tiny. "This is going to be okay. You are going to help your friend and you aren't going to pass out. And if you do, I'm here."

Clark nodded. "I'm ready."

I'm not, Chloe thought. "Are you sure?"

Clark held out his hand palm up and nodded. Chloe closed her eyes at the last moment before dropping Lola into his waiting hand.


	56. Chapter 24 Seeing Red

**- Chapter 24 - Seeing Red - **

A blast of white light like a camera flash filled her bedroom and Chloe winced. Clark thought his friend might accidentally hurt him. Chloe opened her eyes on a scene that wasn't exactly reassuring. Clark's skin was white as chalk and his lips were tinged a deep, frostbite blue. Moving quickly, Chloe snatched Lola off Clark's hand. The once white crystal radiated a dull, red fire. He told her that Lola was supposed to be blue? Chloe didn't contemplate the meaning of Kryptonium, Kryptonite, and color shifts. Red probably reflected her mood, angry-after being imprisoned and starved who could blame her? "I apologize for this, and nice to meet you..." Chloe trailed away ineffectually and sealed the stone in Clark's lead box.

"Clark?" Chloe rubbed her hand over his pale, immobile forehead, very concerned by his silence. Her fingers burned with the cold and she pulled them back protectively. Chloe started to panic. Was he breathing? Had Lola killed him? "Oh God, Clark? Please don't be dead. Clark?"

He groaned deep in his throat and color rushed back into his lips inhumanly quickly. "Not dead," he muttered. "A bit chilled. She's done that before."

"I think I understand why she might have scared your parents." Chloe stroked his forehead again, now warmer, hardly cool at all. "I thought she killed you."

"You put her in the box?" Clark asked.

"That was my job, right? I think she may be angry. I don't really speak Kryptonium, but she wasn't blue like you said. She was red. Does red mean angry?"

Clark sat up and looked up at Chloe, his eyes bright. "Are you sure she was red? "

"I'm not color blind. She was red. Is red bad?"

"Red is chaos, at least that was all she would ever say about it. Color is everything with Kryptonium and Kryptonite. Each color is an energy state and a state of mind. Green has the highest hunger for energy, the highest natural energy state. It's also the least efficient at storing it. The only sane form is blue." Clark picked up the lead box but didn't open it. "She told me that her wild type used to be red."

"So your friend is insane? She went wild?"

"At least she's not dead."

Chloe sat by Clark on her bed and rested her head on his shoulder. Together they stared at the box of chaos on his lap. "So what do we do now?" Chloe asked.

"That is a very good question."

* * *

The kitchen clock ticked past midnight. Now that his curfew had officially passed, Martha felt her fear and anger magnify. Jonathan sat at the table, nursing a cup of coffee and she joined him. "Do you think it's the Eradicator? Do you think she's back?"

"I don't think there's any way for us to know for sure, but she left Luci and Ford behind if she took Clark again, so I think Clark broke curfew all on his own." Jonathan took another long drink of his coffee.

"I'm going to ground him for a month," Martha said. "Two maybe."

_It isn't the Eradicator_, Jonathan repeated to himself. "We will ground him if he isn't through that door in another five minutes."

The flowered wallpaper of Smallville's only real inn began to wear on Lex the day he moved in. Now more than a month into the reconstruction of his home, he could barely stand to open his eyes in the room. He tossed back a snifter of brandy and resolutely kept his eyes closed as he poured another.

How had things come to this point, blind drinking in a cheap rural inn? Had Lana's admonitions really stung him so badly? No. His father shouldered a healthy portion of the blame, Lex reasoned. He took away Smallville Fertilizer, poached his pet psychic, Jon Fisk, and he had the pure gall to send Lex a condolences card on the house.

If Lionel Luthor didn't drive you to drink, there was always the Kent clan to finish you off. Just thinking about them made him angry-Jonathan and Martha, small town values and platitudes, hypocrites and liars. He did nothing but help them and support them, but he was never worthy of their secrets. It was so obvious at this point that Clark was a meteor mutant that really it was an insult to his intelligence not telling him. Not trusting him was an unforgivable insult.

Maybe it was finally time to stop trying? Maybe it was finally time to get the Hell out of Smallville? The entire place was a hazard. The citizens should all be wearing hazmat suits.

A knock at the door startled him into opening his eyes. Billionaires could afford to stay at dingy, rural inns only if they brought their own security, and Andre knew better than to disturb him at this time of the morning. Lex crossed the room and glanced through the spy hole. Andre, expensive muscle in an equally expensive suit, stood next to the meteor mutant who had just been on his mind.

Lex considered putting the brandy away and feigning sobriety, but he shook his head. He might be a Luthor and he might be a liar, but he wasn't a hypocrite. With an audible click, Lex pushed the door open.

"Good morning Clark. It is either very early or very late for calling, but come in. I wasn't sleeping so it doesn't matter either way." Lex ushered Clark in and nodded to Andre that he had responded appropriately. "Would you like a refreshment? I have Brandy."

"No thanks, I...This is probably a bad time. I mean I know it's not a good time." Clark felt his cheeks flush with color as he stumbled over his words. "I told Chloe I was going home, but that seemed like a bad idea." _People like me shouldn't confront people when they're angry._ "I need somewhere to sleep that won't get anyone grounded, and Pete's parents would just call my parents."

"You're welcome to one of the beds, and I wouldn't dream of calling your parents. But I would like to know why you don't think you can't go home. Trouble in paradise?"

Not trouble. Trouble was the Eradicator with a breeding program and age inappropriate candidates. Trouble was a meteor mutant who hurt people and had to be dealt with. Lola driven insane by blind fear and bigotry went beyond trouble. The red rock inside that box was a form of human-made evil that Clark was still trying to wrap his head around. "Have you ever been betrayed by someone you loved?" Clark asked.

Lex laughed mirthlessly and dropped onto one of the upholstered, flowered chairs. "I've never loved anyone who proved trustworthy in the end. Everyone lies. Everyone betrays. You even lie, don't you Clark?"

"Everyone lies," Clark agreed. He took the other chair next to the table with Lex's alcohol. With reverent care, he placed the box containing Lola on the table between them. "I had to take a placement test to restart school, and they said I was deficient in functional literacy, that I didn't remember everything about how the world works, socially or functionally. They were right. But I'm starting to really understand now, how humans work."

Lex frowned, not liking the way Clark said humans, as though excluding himself. Even if he was a meteor mutant, he was still human, and whoever had insinuated otherwise to him was a damn bigot. "What happened?"

"My parents work very hard to protect me. They love me completely, unconditionally, selflessly. I thought love was a perfect thing, but it isn't, not when fear gets in. Fear can make love ugly and hateful." Clark stared at the box between them, feeling more alien than he had in months.

"What's in the box, Clark? Let me help." Lex felt his hands twitch with wanting to open that box, to see the proof of the Kent's hateful hypocrisy. What had they done?

"You've already helped more than you know," Clark said. "As for what happened, I lost a friend. Despite the lies and betrayal and fear...I don't want to lose my family. Do you keep loving people who betray you? Do you forgive them? If I stay away until I'm not so angry, and I wait until the pain isn't so bad, will it all go back to being okay?"

"I still love my mother who died and left me. I still love my father who never loved anyone or anything. I still love you."

"Even after I forgot you and lied to you...and accidentally burned your house down." Clark winced at his spurt of confessions and awaited Lex's angry explosion.

"I suspected." Lex poured himself another drink and lifted it in salute before downing it. "Forgiving betrayal comes easier to some than others, but never forget your betrayers or you're doomed to be victimized forever."

Lex noticed that Clark's fist had sunk into the cool metal of the table in an apparently unconscious show of strength. Not for the first time, he wondered how strong Clark was and what exactly he was capable of.

"I won't forget." Clark took his box back off the table and nodded to Lex. "I'll never forget."

* * *

Tick.

Tock.

Tick. Tick. .TICK.

Within the faux children's library of Kal's simulated mind, the black industrial clock's red second hand counted the increments of time with a steady inaudible tick that captivated the former overlord of the galaxy. Though they were his last, the seconds seemed to drag on, procrastinating his death, a matter that had malingered half-finished for too long now.

Tock. Tick.

Kal cursed the red second hand as it made its circuit around the twelve again. Where was his Eradicator? Why did she make him wait?

It couldn't take this long.

She had failed.

She couldn't overcome her ingrained programming against his destruction.

She was frozen, useless, and he would echo here forever, alone.

Every tick of the clock tormented him.

It was over.

Tick.

What now?

Tock.

All his power was gone, eliminated by the war he had narrated note by note.

No.

The Eradicator couldn't fail him now. He would not echo here for eternity. His will alone would summon her, break through the bit of her core programming that had stopped her from her final task.

Eradicator, finish it. Please? Please help me?

Each second mocked him as it passed. Another second of awareness. Another moment that was never meant to come. Another. And another. Kal began to scream at the seconds as they passed, cursing them for existing.

And then the storm was over.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

The children's library with its ticking clock continued its virtual existence, but the rustle of Kal-El's mind no longer disturbed the perfect silence. Seconds passed, uncursed and unnoticed.

Cut off mid-tirade, Kal-El's consciousness was no longer aware of them.


	57. Chapter 25 Show and Tell

**- Chapter 25 - Show and Tell -**

Eradicators destroyed, maimed, killed. Occasionally they tortured or spied. As a whole, they were aptly named machines. Of all the incarnations of Eradicator that had ever existed, the last was no exception to this rule. If asked to enumerate her successful missions, she could easily have numbered them though they were tens of millions dead.

She remembered them all perfectly. The intimate kills who she had stalked and tortured and finally terminated. They were no more or less important than the impersonal kills, the collateral deaths, the faceless millions that died for strategy in war. Destruction in all its flavors defined her.

After all the efficient, emotionless death of her existence, the last Eradicator finally went against her name and nature. At the request of Kal-El, she had tried to create.

His request had seemed strange at the time, asking her to make her own way, to do as her own will dictated. It was antithesis to her programming, but she had made do, creating a project and a plan. Reo and Luci and Ford were just the beginning of her creation, the New Krypton that might exist on Earth. Kal-El had played midwife to her dream.

She understood that it wasn't for her pleasure or reward that he had cultivated her and her mission. He wanted his Eradicator to grow past the ingrained fail-safes that prevented her killing him. He wanted to commit suicide using her hand.

He commanded death from a destroyer.

And for the first time since her initial activation, she failed to make an intended kill.

Thanks to Kal-El's influence, the Eradicator used her new found skills, and she created instead of destroying.

Protectively cradling the ingrained sphere of an AI, the Eradicator settled the device into its cradle. Blue lights appeared along the diagnostic monitoring device, and layers of liquid metal closed over the exposed black surface.

"Welcome back, Kal-El."

* * *

Martha stepped into the kitchen and found her son sitting at the table with a glass of orange juice. She felt anger prick at the casual way he had strolled in and was now having breakfast. Didn't he know how worried they had been? Didn't he care? "First you skip out on your date with Chloe and then you forget your curfew? Where were you? I thought the Eradicator had you again."

Without bothering to answer her questions, Clark pulled the lead box containing Lola off his lap and placed it on the table between them. The box was a test. He knew to the core of his being that Jonathan had been involved in Lola's imprisonment, but he wasn't really sure about Martha. From the guilty look on her face, they were both complicit. "The Eradicator is still gone as far as I know. I spent the night at the Care Inn; Lex lent me a bed last night."‑

Martha stared at the box, assuming that the blue stone was back in her son's pocket. They were backsliding. Things had gotten better in their family with Lola gone. Maybe it was coincidence. Maybe it had just been time for healing, but it hadn't felt like a coincidence. It had felt like Jonathan being vindicated. Somehow Clark had discovered their betrayal and now they had to face the fallout.

If Lola was really the divisive force Jonathan was certain she was, and she had returned to Clark's pocket, then they were in for a long confrontation. "Is Lola okay then?" Martha asked, hollowly. She expected Clark to remove the glowing stone from his pocket, to maybe rant or scream. Instead he shook his head at her, staring at the box between them. "Clark, talk to me."

"For all intents and purposes, you and Jonathan killed her. We can talk all you like about that tonight." Clark stood and slipped the lead box under his arm. "I have school."

His mother undoubtedly had more to say, but Clark didn't want to listen yet. He ran to school the long way, circling past the fertilizer plant, around the Mullen's farm, and finally through to the High School. No exhaustion followed a run for him. He wasn't even winded.

No human runner could ever even run a quarter of that distance without suffering some fatigue. _I am completely inhuman_, Clark thought desolately. For the first time in his life that he could remember, part of him was sincerely glad to be other than human. The lead box, the coffin, held securely under his arm left him sad to be stranded on a planet full of them.

A freshman girl from his first period, Shannon, stopped in front of him, blocking his way. She grinned, waving. "Hello Clark, do you know me? Who am I kidding, of course you know me-Shannon, Freshman Homecoming Princess. I wanted to make sure I got to you before you rented a tux. I haven't selected a dress and I want your cummerbund to match, so wait until I get back with you. Okay?"

Clark frowned, not in the mood for incomprehensible teen girl demands. "I won't rent a tux until I hear from you, your highness. Why does it matter if we match?"

"You haven't heard? Look there." Shannon pointed a perfectly French tipped nail at a frilly pink display announcing the homecoming court. "You're the duly elected freshman beau. It is your duty to look smashing in a tux that does not clash with my dress, escort me onto the float, smile, and hand me off to my boyfriend Chad when he finishes winning the football game."

Shannon tapped him on the shoulder and smiled encouragingly. "Congratulations. I'll have a dress selected soon. Promise!" She strolled away, grinning and greeting other girls as she walked.

How had this travesty happened? Didn't a person generally have to accept a nomination before they could be elected anything? With an inaudible groan, he launched himself toward his locker. He thought he could get through today, but who could have predicted the homecoming nonsense. Skipping school suddenly seemed like the most appealing option. Books in hand he paused and listened.

Chloe was coming.

Clark recognized everything about her approach even in the crowded hall. He could pick out the cadence of her steps, the sigh of her breath. If he concentrated, he could hear the steady thumping of her heart.

"How are you holding up?" Chloe asked.

Slamming his locker, Clark shrugged. "I've been better. The hope was, today would be a quiet day of boring classes so I could try to get my head on straight, but it turns out I've been elected to the Homecoming Court, which gives strange freshmen girls the right to order me around."

"You won?" Chloe winced. "I really meant to warn you that you were up for that. I'm sure you could get out of it if you really wanted?"

"I'll probably survive. Do you mind if I come home with you this afternoon, for a bit? Make sure I'm not going to be stupid when I go home." Clark frowned, unable to imagine how to talk to his parents tonight.

"No problem." Chloe's lopsided smile managed to encourage and bolster him despite his general malaise.

"Thanks." Clark leaned over and kissed his favorite human on her forehead. _Thanks for reminding me that human is not necessarily a bad thing. _

* * *

Hiding behind a bale of hay in Clark's barn, two alien children conferred solemnly. "Humans are evil," Luci said in inflectionless Galactic Standard. Her solemn face stared into her brother's eyes, knowing he was too young to be burdened with such truths. But they were in the land of the enemy, aliens who would kill others out of fear because they were different. Such aliens had killed their parents. They could not afford to let their guard down on this world. "If they comprehended how different we are from them, they would be afraid of us and they would kill us too."

Ford stared at her, his face serious. "Okay."

"I don't know what to do, to get us away from this danger, but I promise to protect you." Luci leaned forward until her forehead rested against her brother's.

"Reo is building a ship," Ford shared shyly. "And she told me that we could come with her if we wanted to go."

"But Onlea, we can't leave here when she expects us to wait for her," Luci said stubbornly.

"We can't trust Onlea," Ford countered. "I don't like her or how she looks at people, us."

"And you suddenly trust Reo-Ra?" Luci asked. "The only reason she didn't flush us out an airlock was fear of Onlea. Onlea saved us."‑

Ford frowned, unsure how to explain his foreboding. "Onlea thinks she owns us. But she doesn't own us."

"She saved our lives. We'd be dead right now, suffocated but for her." Luci leaned back away from her brother. "She's owed something."

* * *

During his weeks attending school, Clark had come to believe in the possibility of anonymity. If he never drew attention to himself by action or dress or spoken word, he could vanish into the sea of human adolescents, no more notable than a shadow. But the freshman class had taken note of him, enough note to vote him onto a float and it seemed everyone wanted to congratulate him, or tell him that they'd voted for him, to touch him and know him.

It was too much and at the wrong time. Would they have voted him anything if they knew he wasn't really human? Instead of touching him and chatting at him, they'd probably be running for their lives or they'd be trying to kill him. Fight or flight. Humans were so predictable.

But that wasn't fair. He was a humanoid alien, too much like them to be really scary. It didn't matter that he was the most dangerous creature any one of these kids had ever met when it came to potential for destruction. They were more likely to attack an alien like Lola, no matter that her potential to do damage was almost nil.

"If you don't stop scowling, you're going to offend your fans," Chloe said. "They don't know you're grieving. They didn't do anything wrong," she added in a whisper only Clark could be expected to hear.

Refusing to smile, Clark shrugged. "I don't want fans. Are you ready to go home then?"

"Come on." Chloe led Clark to her parking space. She waited for Clark to fold his long limbs into her compact car. He looked rather like a perfectly folded sardine. Chloe twisted the key, enjoying the healthy rumble of the engine. "So, have you had a chance to think about what to do?"

"Yeah, first priority is not hurting Lola any worse until I can help her," Clark said. "I was hoping you wouldn't mind babysitting. Since I don't know what kind of affect she would have on me in her current state, I can't afford to help her with her energy needs."

"She can't feed on me though?" Chloe looked away from the road long enough to fix Clark with a nervous glare. "I don't think I'm up to being lunch."

"She couldn't feed on you if she wanted to," Clark said. "I wouldn't ask you to do this if you were a potential biological fuel for her. You just need to find her a sunny place to store radiant energy. It will keep her from starving while I get ready."

"It sort of sounds like you might have a plan," Chloe said. "Want to fill me in?"

"It's complicated, but I was practicing something, trying to learn how to convert Kryptonite into Kryptonium. Lola was showing me." Clark kept his explanation purposefully vague. Chloe didn't need to know the intimate details or risks to such attempts.

"That's wonderful." Chloe smiled. "You can fix this. I don't know why you were so worried when this was something you knew how to deal with."

"It's not like I've ever actually tried it before. And I have no idea what effect red kryptonite is going to have on me while I'm attempting the shift," Clark explained.

Her instincts clanged and Chloe's grip tightened on the steering wheel. Clark was being evasive. There was more to be concerned about that he wasn't elaborating on, she'd stake her editor's chair on it. "Should I be trying to talk you out of this?"

"There's risk, but it will be okay," Clark said. "Trust me."

* * *

Parking the tractor in the machine shed, Jonathan finished his day's work. Martha had warned him that Clark knew about Lola, but waiting in the kitchen for a confrontation with his son, didn't make sense. Better to work the fields through the day and face the consequences of his decision in its time. He wiped the sweat and dirt from his brow and set out for home. He didn't have an explanation planned or an escape plan if Clark were to lose his cool like he had the first day of his rock's disappearance.

If someone had to be blamed, if Clark had to hate someone, Jonathan just hoped he would reserve that animosity for him, absolving his mother. Martha hadn't been party to his decision, and hopefully, Clark would at least let him explain that much.

Even if Clark hated him for it, Jonathan still didn't regret his decision. His son was free, and that was worth the fallout.

"We need to talk," Clark said.

Jonathan turned back toward the south fields and his son's voice, not surprised that Clark could sneak up on him. "Son, let's talk. I understand you found the Kryptonium where I put it away. Your mother said that it had died. It wasn't my intention to kill it, her."

"I know." Clark stood quietly, face placid. "I even understand why you put her away. You love me and you were afraid. Mom didn't know at first, did she?"

"No, I didn't consult your mother," Jonathan said. He had expected anger, accusations, shouting. Clark's quiet regard was unexpected, chilling. He doubted Martha's report that the rock was dead in that moment. Lola was back in his pocket, chilling his son's emotions. "Are you okay? Clark, talk to me. I understand if you're angry."

"No, I've had time to think, and I'm not angry. You still don't understand what you did, who she was, and I know that I can't explain it to you. Maybe it's my damaged brain that can't find the right words. I don't actually blame you." Clark sighed and walked in a purposefully slow shuffle toward the house, unwilling to engage Jonathan further on the tragedy of fear and love and misunderstanding that had so damaged his friend. He should have buffered the relationship between Lola and his parents. At the time he had been too damaged and self involved to help them coexist. A gentle creature without inherent defenses suffered the repercussions for his inadequacy.

At least he would have a chance to set things right.


	58. Chapter 26 Ignition

**Author's Note: **Some revisions have been performed. Revisions began 04-24-09 and affect all the old chapters. I had reasons for some of the things that were written into this book when it started, and I changed my mind about some things. **Biggest change that might confuse a long time reader: Jonathan "Jon" Fisk is now named Joseph "Joe" Fisk. The logic for the name wasn't worth the confusion of two Jonathans in a Smallville fic.**

**Chapter 26 – Ignition**

**20,000 years ago on the planet Krypton**

The city called Hale and the mountain of the same name slumbered under a thick blanket of winter snow and ice. Neat silver roads, swept to perfection daily by an army of efficient drones, cut through the otherwise pristine white landscape.

On the evening of winter solstice, the roads climbing the mountain hummed with unusual amounts of life. Steadily, a stream of pilgrims climbed the mountain, some running quickly, anxious to arrive, others strolling more sedately enjoying the journey. Few rode mechanisms or beasts of burden as simplicity dominated the cultural trends of the day.

While it was still early and the trickle of pilgrims relatively slow, a young man strapped a simple pack to his side and keyed his sliding, grey front door open. With any luck he would be up the mountain and in the presentation queue before anyone noticed he was gone. His sense of satisfaction died quickly. Regally upright and thin, with her brown hair coiled on her head intricately, his mother had not been avoided within, but found waiting outside. "Good greetings, mother. You rose early today."

"The gathering is today. I like to watch the last of the pilgrims make their way past. Clay-Ta, where do you think you're going?" his mother asked softly.

He turned toward the road, refusing to look guilty or furtive. "I'm headed up the mountain with the rest of them. I've submitted a paper at Hale."

"You never told me you were working on a paper. Your father's theory or your own?" she asked.

Standing a bit taller, he replied, "Thermokinetics of Kryptonite's Crystaline Structure and Potential for Controlled Combustion, I give him all credit as its originator..."

Emotion entered his mother's face for the first time as her eyes hardened with anger. "Do you really think I'm concerned about plagiarism? He died pursuing the practical application of his theory. I'd rather not lose a child and a mate to the same dangerous folly. You disappoint me Clay."

"It was never my intention to harm, anger, worry, or disappoint you," Clay intoned with a slight inclination of his head. "I have no plan of dying today or anytime soon."

"Do you think your father intended to die? He never struck me as unstable or suicidal, but perhaps you knew him better than me." She closed her eyes for a moment and willed serenity to return to her face. Her emotional display ended, she rose and smoothed her son's over-shirt and fingered one of his errant blond curls. Snow had begun to fall again and flakes decorated the intricate coils of her hair. "You are just like him. Hair too long, clothes too rumpled. You are not a child anymore, and I can no longer bound you in," she said at last. "I can ask that you please consider me and be careful; swear that you are not planning any practical application of that theory today."

"I swear to be careful and cautious and to come home tonight." Clay felt his mother's unexpressed emotions as though she were wailing. To have raised her voice in anger was so far from normal, he considered her display close to hysterical. Unlike other races, Kryptonians did not wallow in emotions or display those they felt. Dispassionate logic was the rule of not only social discourse but of daily interpersonal intercourse. "Will you be okay? Perhaps you would like to join me at Hale, rather than wait here alone with your concerns."

"I will wait here," his mother said without inflection. She nodded to him and gestured at the waiting road. Clay didn't wait for further permission. He escaped his overly emotional parent and sped away. His mother watched the snow falling long after her son was gone. She watched until the accumulation in the roads activated the automated servos to start clearing the drifts. Like the others of her race, cold did not bother her. She stood like a statue until the sun rose high in the sky and the pilgrims vanished, all gone away to Hale. She held vigil, like her ancestors had in less civilized times when wars were still fought, and lives of family were feared lost.

* * *

**Smallville, Kansas – Present Day**

You had to get up pretty early in the morning to out rise-and-shine a serious farmer. Each moment of finite daylight had value, especially in the fall when the days grew incrementally shorter and the work more crucial. Clark's digital alarm clock reported half past three when he opened his bedroom door and let it click almost silently shut. He was right on schedule. Moving with smooth silence, Clark dressed and grabbed his satchel with its dangerous lead encased cargo. He avoided every potential squeak on the stairs and entered the kitchen smiling grimly.

_I can do this_.

Ignoring the voice of fear and caution in the back of his mind, the voice whispering that he was broken and deficient and that this game he planned would be dangerous if he weren't brain damaged, Clark stepped out into the dark, damp morning with a box of kryptonite under his arm.

_I have to try anyway._

There wasn't another option. The only living Kryptonian happened to be brain damaged, which made him Lola's only chance at revival. He owed her the attempt. First he would have a try with some green kryptonite. If he survived and managed the transition, then he would convert Lola. Of course, if he had the slightest clue what red kryptonite might do to him, he would make Lola his first attempt, but he didn't think any unknowns were a good idea for his first foray into thermokinetic kryptonite manipulation.

Crickets chirped amid a swirl of light fog while Clark lingered on the porch. He didn't speed off to attempt his experiment. His stomach churned with nerve induced nausea. He wanted more than anything to get Chloe. He wanted her with him when he tried to convert the dangerous stone. He wanted her to hold his hand, to smile at him. He wanted her heartbeat close enough to hear.

"You really want her there to watch you die if the worst happens?" Clark hissed under his breath. It was a selfish impulse, weak, and he couldn't do that to her.

Clark took a step off the porch, heading for the west fields, away from the crops and cows, and away from Reo's new campsite. He needed quiet and time.

_I can do this._

More like a lawn than a hay field, the grass at the site Clark selected for his experiment barely reached ankle height. The cows had grazed this pasture less than a week earlier and the field would just have time to grow tall enough for hay harvesting in a month or so when the weather really started getting chilly. He recognized the bit of knowledge as a memory, a new one from the old Clark who grew up here.

That Clark could operate this farm from cow pasture to corn field. He knew every in and out of the complicated process. In some ways, he knew that he was becoming him, becoming the forgotten boy, both by remembering and relearning things that had been lost. But he was becoming something else too. He wasn't just a farmer. He wasn't just a student. And he was not just a human.

Maybe the old Clark would have made the same journey, discovering his otherness and embracing parts of it. Maybe he would have hidden and ignored his differences forever, emulating humanity doggedly like a mimic. It didn't matter what the old Clark would have become; he had metamorphosed through an irreparable injury. The new Clark was more than ready to lay the ghost of who he was to rest, to embrace who he was becoming.

_And if it kills you?_ the niggling voice of doubt whispered.

"I can do this," Clark finally uttered aloud. Tossing his satchel aside, he set the lead box of green kryptonite on the ground and slowly unbuttoned his shirt. "Kryptonians did this for thousands and thousands of years."

Breathing rhythmically in and out, Clark recited Lola's lessons on Kryptonite manipulation, circling the box. "When Krypton was still a young planet and the race of Kryptonians still relatively primitive, all types of Kryptonite lived on the surface of the world. My ancient ancestors struggled with controlling the ever present rocks and the dangers they posed to a growing civilization."

* * *

**20,000 years ago on the Planet Krypton**

A room full of stern faced scientists and politicians stared up at the prime stage as a short, stout woman with severe gray hair completed a recital of her theory on harmonic energies and improving intragalactic travel. A polite silence followed her final words on the topic and she stepped off the stage after a few technical questions were cleared up.

Without any official introduction, Clay-Ta took the prime stage. Young as he was, he could not afford to show any nervousness or doubt. The assemblage would be reluctant to afford him much credit without displays of emotion muddying the waters, but like his mother, Clay often had a hard time containing his every emotional swing in moments of great stress. "Honored colleagues, you are addressed by Clay-Ta, on the topic of, topic..." Clay stumbled over his words and had to look at his paper to read the title. "Thermokinetics of Kryptonite's Crystaline Structure and Potential for Controlled Combustion; Theory Continued and Adapted from Prey-Ta's Original Manuscript of the Same Title"

Clay could hear the murmurs almost immediately, impolite in the extreme. Could they not give him a chance to speak before assuming his work was worthless? "As most of you are aware, this theory states that Kryptonite can be converted through a simple combustion reaction into any viable color form. Most advantageously, all dangerous forms can be converted to Kryptonium as it is of the lowest energy state."

One of the elders stood and Clay froze mid-recitation. "Forgive me Clay-Ta, but I have heard this theory before, as has nearly every personage in this room. Unless you have a practical demonstration or application of the theory, continuing this presentation seems a waste of time."

"Honored sir." Clay took a long moment to master his emotions so as not to embarrass himself any further. Rather than trust his voice, he removed his pack and unlatched it. Quietly he scattered two dozen small blue rocks onto a display table to the side. One at a time he thrummed them and set them to singing as only the blue form of Kryptonite could do. One of the rarest minerals on their world, few of the men and women of the gallery had ever seen a piece of Kryptonium, much less heard it sing.

All murmuring stopped. The elder who had interrupted his recitation, inclined his head in quiet, shocked deference and retook his seat.

"As we have established, you've heard the details of this theory before. With the hope of not wasting your time, we can skip to the practical application of the theory," Clay said with new-found calm detachment. "Applying heat to Kryptonite does nothing to change it. The energy applied must be specific and of great quantity. The stone is accustomed to feeding on our personages; they attack the small amount of energy we pull from our reserves to function. If we glut them, overfill them with our energy, we can break and reshape the bonds of their matrix. With your permission, I will demonstrate that conversion now."

* * *

**Smallville, Kansas – Present Day**

Clark could feel the energy in his cells, traveling along the tiny crystals that stored power in him. Breathing in, he began to exert his will on that energy as he had been instructed months ago. Deliberately he released the stockpiled energy, pooling it first in his chest, like a growing bucket of fire and then allowing it to flow down his arms and into his hands.

Clark began to feel light headed as he sent more and more energy from his core to his hands, depleting his reserves recklessly. If he held back, that would be dangerous, Lola had assured him over and over. He had to risk all the energy, flood the kryptonite's system, break the chemical bonds holding it together. It would take all he had stored in his life to manage it.

A soft glow shone through his fingertips, and Clark kept breathing and pacing, kept sending more energy. "I can do this." The glow in his hands was strong now. Clark stopped talking, stopped pacing, and sucked in a deep steadying breath. Virtually every spark of energy he had stored in his life danced just under the skin of his fingertips.

_I can do this._

He flipped open the lead box.

* * *

**20,000 years ago on Krypton**

Clay's hands glowed white. He deactivated his Kryptonite's containment and poured his life's energy at the creature. When the chemical bonds broke, it was with a blinding outpouring of energy, far more than he expended to start the reaction. The wave of energy refilled and replenished him. He blinked his eyes until they cleared. Without turning to face his audience, he picked up the new blue stone and examined it. Like the other kryptonite he had converted, it was confused. For the first time in its existence it was not starving for energy. It was with food, a Kryptonian, and felt no need to feed. He sent it a wave of nonverbal reassurances.

Clay placed the newly converted blue rock among his collection and finally turned to the visibly stunned crowd. "I will be happy to take questions now."

A younger scholar, too young to have heard the original theory presented by Prey-Ta rose. "Sir, if you just expended all your energy reserves fueling this conversion, how do you stand here, unharmed, alive, and able to repeat the process."

"Simple energy conversion equation, the reaction is exothermic in the extreme. If you have the self possession to claim that energy for yourself quickly, before the chemical bonds try to reform, you guarantee the formation of only the lowest energy state of Kryptonite, blue, and you have restored your own energy in the process," Clay replied smoothly.

"It seems very dangerous," one of the politicians said. "Could you teach others to achieve this simple energy conversion? With an unlimited supply of Kryptonium and the technology that would facilitate, we could actually defend ourselves amongst the pirates and criminals that hinder our efforts in the galaxy."

"It can be taught," Clay said. "My father taught me."

"Your father died without ever making a single piece of Kryptonium," another scholar rejoined. "I don't think you owe him so much credit."

"We gain experience from mistakes. My father's mistakes cost him his life and saved me mine in the same endeavor. His first practical attempt at this conversion was performed outdoors, safely away from any population centers. In that open space, he missed the energy wave, lost all the energy and his life. To be performed safely, you need containment so that the energy can't disperse away before you claim it."

* * *

**Smallville, Kansas – Present Day**

Burning brilliant as a tiny sun, a shard of Ktyptonite ignited. Light filled the night, brighter than day, bright enough to blind. No sound or heat or percussion followed this fierce strobing. Pure white light burned for a few short seconds and without disturbing a leaf on a tree or stirring a blade of grass, the light was gone.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

How do you write a chapter explaining a fictional chemical reaction/conducting a fictional experiment and try to make it interesting? I wrote this chapter without the flashback sequence to Krypton, and it was a lot of Clark talking to himself about science. It really didn't work. I considered bringing in Chloe to "Gee wiz how does that work?" but decided to give her a rest as the person who has to have things explained to her. Hopefully, Clay-Ta served his purpose without causing confusion or too much annoyance.

In other news, book 2 is complete. I will post a chapter a week until the story is done.


	59. Chapter 27 Sunrise

**- Chapter 27 - Sunrise -**

The rooster crowed and Jonathan sat up in bed, confused for a moment. His alarm should have gone off well before dawn. He glared at his clock in annoyance, wondering what had happened. The time read quarter to four though. The rooster was early? Light shone through the bedroom window, too bright for dawn, impossible that it was natural. Jonathan stumbled to the window and wondered who or what had lit the farm up like noontime without making a sound.

He pushed back the curtains and in an instant, amidst the rooster's crowing, the light was gone. Jonathan blinked in the darkness, trying to see past the stars in his vision.

"What happened?" Propped up on her elbows, Martha frowned toward the window. "Is someone here?"

"I don't know."

"Well, I'm going to peek in on Clark and Luci and Ford." Martha had already rolled out of bed and was headed to the closet for her robe.

"Do you think the Eradicator is back?" Jonathan asked.

Martha shook her head. "I hope not. It doesn't seem like her style of entrance."

Jonathan wasn't surprised to find Clark's room empty. After finding Lola again, he knew better than to expect compliance or courtesy from his son. Ford and Luci's empty room was more of a surprise. Was one of the missing children responsible for the light and were they all okay?

Martha arrived at his elbow with a frown. "It looks like we're the only ones sleeping tonight." Folded on the guest room's desk a note caught her attention and Martha unfolded it. In careful, laborious blocks of printing, simple sentences explained the children's absence.

_We are with Reo. _

_She is taking care of us. _

_Luci and Ford_

Nothing of theirs remained behind in the room. The two children had decamped without a word of goodbye. Martha frowned in confusion. "They're with Reo at her build site. Do you think the ship Reo is building made the light?"

"It's possible." Jonathan sighed. "We'll have to talk to her about not alerting the neighbors to her project if she's responsible. Let's see if Clark left a note in the kitchen. Hopefully he didn't bunk down at Lex's again. It's hard not to worry that he's going to say something inappropriate while he's angry." Not that he had shown much anger over the death of his favorite rock. Jonathan frowned darkly, still doubtful that Lola was really and truly gone.

"There are technically worse people he could tell his secret to if it happened," Martha said. She followed Jon down the stairs and to the kitchen. "I wanted to tell Lex everything not so long ago, remember?"

"I remember. And it's as big a mistake today as it would have been then." There wasn't a note on the fridge or the counter. No sign betrayed a quick breakfast preparation. Clark hadn't bothered to leave any hints behind.

"There isn't much point in going back to bed." Martha dug out the coffee tin and Jonathan fetched the water. While the smell of Folgers filled the house, she let Jonathan wrap an arm around her and fold her close. "Good morning, by the way."

* * *

Orange juice, coffee, and a pair of soft boiled eggs sat pristine and untouched while a local newscaster for a Metropolis affiliate squawked in the background about unusually bright northern lights appearing in Kansas overnight. Lex paced his hotel room calmly with a cell phone to his ear. "I asked you what it was, exactly where it originated from, and what damage it may have done?" he asked as though the questions were obvious and easily answered. "I pay you to anticipate the unexpected, so I don't want excuses. Do you have data or don't you?"

"I expect more detail when I arrive." Lex snapped his phone shut and frowning, set out. He wasn't paying the PhDs at Cadmus labs to sit on their hands when strange happenings occurred in Smallville. His own private CSI army dedicated to discovering more about the dangerous and potentially useful mutagenic meteor rocks, they knew better than to ignore a blast of light seen as far away as Metropolis.

The early sun had only just broken over the horizon as he slid into his silver sports car and peeled out of the parking lot. If Dr. Green hadn't been able to produce a set of coordinates and inform Lex that a small team had already been dispatched, he might have really lost his cool. As it was, he just wanted to get himself to the site to oversee. He punched the GPS coordinates into his car's navigation system and it informed him that there was no public road access to the site. "Get me close." The voice activated system immediately started turn by turn directions.

* * *

Three aliens, in matching sets of blacked-out goggles trudged through the stubby carpet of Earth-grass single file. While the eyewear looked fairly normal on the older woman's face, the children following her looked rather like snorkelers who'd been fitted with the wrong size equipment.

Holding his oversized goggles in place, Ford tugged on his sister's shirtsleeve. "What do you think made that flash?"

"I really don't know," Luci said. "Not human technology according to Reo, so we might be able to scavenge something." Just thinking about the skeleton of a vessel Reo had constructed so far filled her with terror and hope. Part of her doubted that the clunky mess would ever move safely, much less get them across the galaxy. Trusting Reo and her ship was madness. Unfortunately, their other option, staying on a planet filled with a few billion aliens that might turn on them at any moment, didn't seem any saner.

Luci hissed and hopped awkwardly forward when her ankle sank into a gopher hole. "You really think there's something worth scavenging out here, just because of a brief flash of light?" she snapped at Reo.

"The flash, was spectrum three mark four mark one mark five, perfect Kryptonium blue with a halo of six mark eight mark nineteen. If it's a coincidence, it's a freakish one. We need a fuel source, a core for me to really start building around. The spectrum and power, it has to be a Kryptonian engine or at least a fuel coil."

Luci snorted, massaging her ankle. "So that heap you're welding together back there isn't an example of you 'really' building? I'm glad."

Reo shot a poisonous look over her shoulder to limited effect through the dark, protective goggles. "Just keep your eyes open. Scavenging can be taken the wrong way."

_Reduced to thieves_, Luci thought. She frowned and glanced at Ford with his peeling pink skin and comical goggles. He seemed mostly oblivious to the implications of the situation, but she never knew which little brother she should expect from moment to moment any more -the genius-robot who mastered English in record time or the slobbering crybaby who always wanted the last ration cube.

"Ah excrement." Reo's shoulders slumped and she threw her goggles down. Luci and Ford joined her staring forward at the source of the distinctive spectral flash they had trailed so diligently.

"It's Clark," Ford announced. "Hey Clark, are you okay?"

Lying spread eagled, face turned toward the sky, the last Kryptonian didn't move in response to his name. "Come on," Reo said. She snatched up her goggles and started back they way they'd come. "Anything here is his."

"Wait," Luci said, still staring. Her heart had jumped at the sight of him, her first real crush, though she hadn't labeled him quite that way in her own head yet, eternal soul-mate seemed appropriate to her in the moment. "I think he might be hurt."

"If he is, we don't want to be found with him. All future passengers on my ship need to move away from the Kryptonian now," Reo commanded.

Luci ignored her, heading over to Clark's side instead. She placed her ear over the center of his chest and listened until a steady thumping greeted her. "He's alive," she announced. Her cheeks burning with embarrassment and awe, she shook Clark gently, hoping to wake him. "He's out cold," she announced again, town crier style.

"Great. Leave him and let's go."

"He's one of us," Ford said. He looked up at Reo and back over at his sister. "We shouldn't leave him exposed."

"One of us?" Reo glared out at Luci and Clark, her jaw set. The pronoun us kept growing in meaning lately. As she trudged toward her newly christened comrade, Reo complained, "I should leave you all out here to scavenge with the aboriginals forever. Where this sympathetic streak is coming from in me, I could not tell you." Grunting, Reo dropped awkwardly to one knee by Luci. She slapped an antigravity tag on Clark's chest and another at his knees. "Are you going to make me do everything? Get his gear. Let's go before any natives come poking around." Gripping the control handle, Reo dialed up the antigravity device. Clark rose in the air limply until his toes and fingers barely skimmed the ground.

"Right," Luci said. She grabbed Clark's bag and started tossing crystals inside; a scattering of the blue things seemed to be the only thing Clark had brought with him. "Got it."

* * *

Chloe started her Saturday morning bright and early with her MP3 player blaring away some crisp new tunes. Still damp from the shower, she padded over to her windowsill and picked up the multifaceted red crystal Clark had entrusted to her.

It didn't look very dangerous, just shiny and inert. "Good morning," Chloe said. "You should get lots of clear strong sun today." She replaced the rock gently in a rectangle of light and shrugged. Even if the much talked about Lola was insane, it seemed rude not to at least try to communicate.

Throwing on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, Chloe bounded downstairs to find breakfast. Without removing her earbuds, she turned on the TV and started scrounging for frozen waffles. Once a pair of Eggos were safely toasting, Chloe gave the television some attention. Instead of the usual group of Saturday morning talking heads discussing DC and politics, the local newscasters were running a breaking story. With a couple of quick clicks, Chloe silenced her music and turned up the TV.

"That's right Bob, meteorologists are now saying that last night's light show was an unusual lightning storm. We had a warm night last night and the high humidity combined to make quite an impressive flash." The grinning blond reporter was replaced by a balding middle aged man in a well-tailored grey suit.

"That's exciting Sheri. I can't wait to hear an eyewitness report on the thunder that must have come with it." He looked into a different camera and smiled winningly. "This is Bob Baxter with channel eleven. We will keep you up to date on this developing story from Smallville."

Chloe nibbled on her lower lip and frowned. Weird weather in Smallville couldn't exactly be counted on to be just weather. Between aliens and mutants, it could be anything. Deciding to call her alien connection to gauge that possibility, Chloe nabbed the phone and punched in Clark's digits from memory.

* * *

Unaware that all aliens had made a hasty retreat, a small team of scientists from Cadmus Labs combed the two square mile area in which their satellite data had placed the explosion of light from earlier in the day. Time was not on their side. The local authorities could unexpectedly find the location in question at any time, and their presence would not be appreciated. For his part, Lex was less concerned about the local sheriff than finding some information before what evidence that remained was lost or obscured.

That they were trespassing on Kent land and might run afoul of an angry Jonathan or Martha barely crossed his mind. The location was adjacent to a Luthorcorp test plot and their presence could be easily explained away.

"Mr. Luthor, we found something," a man wearing latex gloves approached with a familiar metal box.

"Hello," Lex took to box and flipped it open. "Interesting."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Phaze made the comment that this fandom (really the show itself) has changed a lot since it started years ago, and I just want to say that I totally agree. Having lost touch with the series (though I've bought all the seasons as they're released with the belief that I will someday come around and watch them) the fandom is unrecognizable to me when I flip through the fiction lists. Does that make this fic dated or retro? Either way, it deserves an ending.

Anyhow, next chapter, a bit early. I'll post again next Sunday probably.

Peace,

Bridget


	60. Chapter 28 Reckless Behavior

**- Chapter 28 – Reckless Behavior -**

Determined to ignore the sound of children talking, Reo paced while twirling a graduated wrench. Her ship, a growing conglomeration of spliced technology, stared back at its creator, still useless without a power core. With Clark, they had recovered a dozen blue specimens of Kryptonium, an ore that Krypton had used to power their technology, a technology that had allowed them to dominate their corner of the galaxy.

Unfortunately, Reo had no idea how to use such crystals. Unlike most cultures Kryptonian technology had never trickled out to the other "lesser" civilizations in any form. She had a vague notion about the biological ties between Kryptonians and their crystal-based technology. To use their toys, you had to be of their blood.

Technically she had a smidgeon of Kryptonian blood in her veins. Maybe she could make this technology work?

With a grimace Reo tapped one of the crystals with her wrench. She thumped it, squeezed it in her palm, even shoved it into her forehead. No spark rewarded her efforts.

"Come on rocks." Reo bit her lower lip and tried different mechanisms on the powerful crystals. "Wouldn't you like to power my vessel?"

"They don't speak English or Galactic standard yet," Clark said.

Looking a bit guilty, Reo removed her handheld spectrometer from the table. "Good morning. You're looking more lively. Of course, I know these belong to you."

The moment Clark entered the room and began to speak, the previously dormant crystals sparkled and vibrated, as though he was the sun at the center of their universe. "Can you hear them? They don't belong to me. If you want their help powering your ship, that's between you and them." He grinned and circled the table. "There were just three in the box that I started with. The others came to the energy surge. It was the most amazing rush."

Reo frowned, not completely understanding Clark's running monologue. "I tried talking to your crystal friends. They didn't have much to say to me."

"Like I said, they don't speak your language yet," he replied simply.

"Whatever you were doing out there with these crystals of yours, it gave off a lot of energy. I know this planet isn't very advanced, but some of these humans might have noticed, wouldn't you think." The kid wasn't even looking at her, too busy cataloguing his new toys. "Are you always so reckless?"

"I'm working with less than a year of concrete memories." Clark grinned to himself. "Patterns are just beginning to establish themselves." He stepped back from the collection of blue rocks. "Can these guys stay with you? I don't really have a safe place for them. You could try to talk them into helping you."

"Of course they can stay. I'm running a home for indigent extraterrestrials." Reo looked at the valuable rocks with poorly disguised desire. "You think they'll help me?"

"If you can figure out how to make them an offer." Clark backed toward the exit. "I have to go. If the energy surge was dramatic enough to draw attention, my parents may be worried." He surveyed the piles of disassembled junk. "I don't suppose you have a phone?"

"A what?" Reo asked.

"Never mind. I'll see you Reo. Thanks for looking out for me." Clark took off running, a smile creeping back onto his face. He might have put on a display, and he might be in some trouble for it, but a dozen pieces of Kryptonite were now blue, virtually harmless Kryptonium. It was a victory and he felt amazing. His feet hardly touched the ground as he breezed through the countryside.

Turning down the speed, he stopped while still under cover in a stand of drying cornstalks. Déjà vu struck for the millionth time, and Clark knew he had viewed the simple clapboard farmhouse from exactly this vantage thousands of times. His mother was visible though the kitchen window, working over the sink. Would she be angry with him? He sucked in a breath sharply, realizing he wanted her and his father to be angry. As mature and understanding as he was trying to be, he wanted to punish them for harming Lola.

He could go in and have a fight with his mother over sneaking out and his "reckless" behavior, or he could head over to Chloe's before anyone tried to ground him and share his victory.

It really wasn't a choice at all.

The run to Chloe's house, took less than a minute. He considered ringing the bell, but opted to stay off the radar and headed for her window. His recent conversation with Reo about emerging behavioral patterns came to mind as he quietly scaled a tree and transitioned to the sloped roof that led to the room of and hopefully person he habitually sought out. How many times had he ended up on this roof recently? It was still pretty early for a non-farm kid on a Saturday. Chloe might still be asleep. Undeterred, Clark extended a hand to tap at the window lightly and paused, his knuckle a millimeter from contact.

The interplay of energy wasn't obvious, and he never would have noticed it if Lola hadn't taught him to be aware of the energy flow of his cells, but he was aware, and he felt the tug of Kryptonite sucking gently at the energy it could reach. This wasn't the ravenous devouring he usually associated with Kryptonite. It was calmly insistent and there was something else. Clark closed his eyes and half-smiled. This felt good.

Lola? Was this red Kryptonite then? Clark went ahead and tapped at the glass, eager to have confirmation of his suspicion. He waited for thirty seconds and tapped again. Chloe might be asleep or out or anything. It wasn't like he had called ahead. He tapped again irrationally impatient. He began to consider breaking the glass and exploring for himself. His fingers itched to find the source of the intoxicating energy pulse.

_Red Kryptonite is chaos._

The warning words lingered in his head and for a brief moment he considered descending from the roof and passing safely through the front door so that Chloe could confine any dangerous Kryptonite to another room. He tapped the window again, slightly louder. Before he could properly contemplate the pros and cons of 'accidentally' going ahead and breaking the window, the curtains shifted back and Chloe's face appeared, a frown turning her lips down - very pretty, soft lips if memory served. What would they taste like this morning? His smile widened and his heart beat faster, the pulse from the Kryptonite changing to amplify the new pleasurable emotion he had given it.

Chaos? Red Kryptonite was amazing. Clark looked down at the window ledge and could just see the red crystal responsible for his ramped up emotions.

Chloe followed his gaze and her eyes widened. Without opening the window, she snatched the red rock up and sealed it in her fist. Clark had taken the lead box with him. She pushed the window up and stepped back, unsure how to proceed.

"Should I take it to the kitchen? Is it making you sick?" Chloe asked, concern wrinkling her forehead. "I'll just take it to the kitchen." Before she could turn, Clark was in her room and standing very close, one hand closed over her clenched fist.

"Don't go," Clark said quickly. "It doesn't hurt. It's... intoxicating." He leaned his head down, so that the last word was whispered into her ear. He pulled her closer and kissed her neck. She smelled like soap and underneath, like a human, salty and sweet.

Shivering, Chloe managed to pull back a step and looked up into Clark's eyes, wild ravenous eyes. His grip on her wrist tightened and he cocked his head to the side. For the first time ever, Chloe felt a twinge of real fear that Clark might accidentally hurt her. She knew exactly who and what he was. She had come to grips with it. But this red rock was changing the rules quickly. Intoxicating, he'd said. Having an intimate moment with an intoxicated Clark seemed highly dangerous to her. Her wrist began to throb, and Chloe pulled ineffectually against the pure iron that was Clark's grip. "You're hurting me."

The strange look in his eyes cleared and he released her abruptly. "Get that out of here," Clark commanded. "While I still have the sense to let you."

* * *

Oblivion ought to last forever.

Kal-El had banked on it when orchestrating his destruction. Out of the dark of nothing, smell returned first. Not smell as he remembered it, but a dissection of the gas in his nose that filled his mind with pointless, unending lists and data.

20.95% Oxygen

78.09% Nitrogen

0.93% Argon

0.02% Carbon Dioxide

0.0018%Neon

0.0005%Helium

0.0005%Xenon

0.000008%Ozone

The gas entered his nasal passages but only swirled passively; no inhalations drove mixing of the vapors. He willed the lists away and they receded without disappearing, background noise.

Touch followed soon, a prickling over his nose and face, hands and feet, every inch of him was a sensation. A new array of data lists inundated him, barometric pressures for each square inch of skin, gravitation stress on each contact point to the bed he reclined on.

I'm reclining and smelling, Kal-El thought, frowning mentally. But the sensations were so alien, so sterile and mechanical. He could almost believe that this was still his Over Council prison. But that Hell had no sensations, not even strange sterile ones.

The return of sound came so abruptly that he could focus on nothing else for several long minutes. The minutia of data overwhelmed his ability to filter. A repeating cadence helped him push the unimportant noises into the background with his growing backlog of constant data. The oscillation of sound became a known voice, his Eradicator's voice. Kal-El focused until the sounds became words.

"you can hear me. I will repeat this until you make a verbal or non verbal indication that you can hear me. I will repeat this until you make a verbal on non verbal indication that you can hear me."

The monotonous phrase soon grated on his nerves and Kal-El tried to move the mouth he could feel. Shut up and explain, he wanted to shout, but only a garbled groan escaped his lips.

"There you are," the Eradicator said. "Don't try to speak or move. The peripheral neuro-paths haven't completely activated. This process will take time and adjustment. As you are awakening I will explain your situation."

Though he could not see or even blink, Kal-El glared with every ounce of hate inside him. Explain why I'm not dead, he wanted to shout at her. Explain your betrayal.

"As you are obviously aware, I couldn't kill you like you wanted, but I couldn't ignore your suffering either. You sent me into the wild galaxy with a vague mission designed to teach me to kill you. Your mission failed in its primary endeavor, but it did teach me to be innovative, creative."

Her hands were on his hands, gentle pressure sending new waves of data through his already overloaded mind. _Creative? Define creative_!

"Using my own specifications as a guide, I constructed a body for you. It isn't perfection, not like a true Kryptonian body. Eradicators are flawed tools that only emulate the form of their creators, but this body will offer you arms and legs, sensation and freedom. If you want death, a wish I can't grant, you can seize it for yourself as soon as the body is completely active. I wouldn't stop you."

The return of sight came as abruptly as sound. Light, shadow, images, refraction angles, so much information to just paint a picture of a room in his mind. The Eradicator, her pale impassive face hovering over him, was almost comforting. He almost didn't hate her for failing him in his hour of need.

Kal-El stared with wide unblinking eyes, and he saw himself in the reflective walls. That was Clark Kent's face, his hair and lips, his fingers half curled into fists. She hadn't just made him an Eradicator, she had molded a perfect sculpture of the living creature he used to be. How cruel she was, he thought savagely. If his hands would have obeyed, he'd have struck her then, destroyed her for playing games with him, for taunting him.

Contemplating her destruction, his lips curled into a smile. Very soon destroying her wouldn't just be a fantasy. It would be a tangible option. He had hands, fists, feet, and legs. He could see and hear. The entire universe was open to him again. She gave it back to him.

Maybe he wouldn't destroy her?

Or maybe he would.

His smile broadened.

Freedom.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Yeah, I know it hasn't been a week. After leaving a fic high and dry for over a year, I just have a hard time justifying making anyone wait when there are chapters stockpiled.

You'll probably notice that the red K in this chapter made Clark insane rather fast. The logic there is that Lola, even insane already knows Clark and knows him well enough to push all his buttons and have him bananas in record time.


	61. Chapter 29 Transgression

**- Chapter 29 – Transgression -**

Just about anything was possible if you had the knowledge and raw materials to use them. Reo-Ra had never in her life been particularly short of knowledge, but she always found herself just behind the curve in raw materials. The pile of Kryptonium in front of her, hinted that her luck might be changing, if she could just get the stupid things to do anything. Using a pale finger like a probe, she tried communication again. "Would any of you like to talk? I know you don't have the language down, but we can try. You tried for Clark. He wants us to try to talk."

Luci returned to the room, her little brother in tow. "Sit," she commanded him before taking the adjacent chair. "So, what do we do now?" Luci asked.

"_We_ don't do anything," Reo said briskly. "_I_ have to get these shards to communicate with me. They can be the core of a space craft capable of launching us back to the civilized galaxy. We don't have a lot of time either."

"Okay." Luci picked one of the crystals up and it glowed softly in her hand. It tingled on her skin and she could just barely hear a faint melody. "It's singing," she declared, her eyes widening. Her brother nabbed one and brought it to his ear.

"I can't hear anything," Ford complained.

"Just hold it. It's not in your ears. You listen with your hand."

Following Luci's example, Reo selected an inert blue stone and held it quietly in her hand and waited. She felt the tingle in her fingers first, then she spotted a faint glimmer. Reo grinned, exchanging a grateful smile with her reluctant charge. "It's a nice song."

"I can't hear it," Ford whined, selecting a different crystal and squeezing it tight in his fist.

* * *

Humans are insubstantial creatures, easily dissipated.

One moment of carelessness could end a human's life.

Clark knew that.

Reo had categorized his recent actions reckless, and he'd relished the label more than a little. It was a statement of identity that bore no resemblance to the Clark everyone remembered fondly. It hadn't occurred to him that the price of recklessness might not be paid just by him.

When Chloe returned from hiding the red kryptonite, she wore a purple ring around her wrist, a mark he had placed on her. Clark cringed inside himself, horrified at what he had done. Leaning against the wall, Clark slid down until his knees were on a level with his chin. He folded his hands together in unconscious supplication. "I hurt you."

Chloe held up her wrist and wiggled it, managing not to show any discomfort on her face. "It looks worse than it is," she quipped, "Besides, you weren't in your right mind. That was obvious."

He could hear her heart rate increase as the pain intensified with movement of the injured wrist. Her smile and attempt to comfort him, just made him feel worse. "I'm sorry. If you want, I can go."

"Apology accepted," Chloe said. "Now stop wallowing. It's over." She waited for Clark's reluctant nod. "Come on now, you owe me a scoop. What can you tell me about the flash of light this morning? It was seen all the way to Metropolis. Was that one of _yours_?"

Clark knew she encompassed the Eradicator, Luci, Ford, and Reo all into that pronoun, not that they were responsible. "It was seen in Metropolis?" His eyes widened and he shook his head. "It shouldn't have been that bright. Reo said it was big, that someone might have noticed." Clark closed his eyes, remembering the rush of the moment, giving all his energy to start a chain reaction, a fire, the energy running away and hitting him again from a second wave. "That light was me."

Chloe's smile lost a degree of wattage. "That was you. What were you doing?" She suspected she already knew his answer. He was doing something to try and help the craze-inducing red rock currently inhabiting her freezer.

"I've been really careless. I set a fire that burned so bright, there's no way it wasn't noticed, and I can't use the technique to help my injured friend because she can make me absolutely insane in less than five minutes. This is a major screw up."

"So everything hasn't gone as planned, look on the bright side," Chloe said, groping for a positive. Clark looked so horribly depressed. "At least we've learned a lot, and that's something."

"Right, knowledge is helpful." Clark pushed himself to his feet. "I'm going home. My parents are probably worried and upset, especially if the light was as bright as you say. Would you mind keeping Lola for the time being, until I figure something out? I'll only use the front door, promise."

"No problem, but please use the window for your exit. I don't want to explain your presence to my dad, since you didn't ring the bell this morning." Chloe crossed the room and hugged Clark before he could complete his exit. She squeezed him as tight as she could, knowing that her efforts felt like nothing to his incredibly strong arms. She wanted to hug away some of the pain and shame she still saw in his eyes. He didn't mean to hurt her, and she knew that. "Call me?"

"Tonight," Clark agreed. "If I still have phone privileges." They split apart and in a moment he was gone, racing home to face the music.

Mentally he prepared himself for the conversation with his parents. They were bound to be disappointed, possibly angry. He was prepared to defend his motives, if he couldn't completely justify the actions and consequences that had resulted. Entering through the front door, Clark took a deep breath and froze, all planned confrontation possibilities going out the window.

His mother looked his way with a strained smile. She shared their living room sofa with a petite, well-groomed freshman that Clark vaguely recognized. "Shannon?"

"Good morning, Clark. Did you know your number was unlisted?" Shannon said. She gestured toward a partially open garment bag with a bright purple dress poking out. "We had to speak today, so I drove right over."

"Why did we have to speak?" Clark asked, the pale pink homecoming display flashing in his memory. He wasn't sure whether to be thankful for the distraction from the morning's excitement or annoyed at the princess's intrusion.

"Homecoming. This weekend. I wanted to make sure you were prepared. I finally selected a dress, and it is magenta. You're really going to need a basic black tux to balance me. Your mother understands."

Martha managed a polite nod. "It shouldn't be a problem."

Shannon stood and zipped her garment bag then tapped Clark on the chest in a vaguely threatening manner before heading for the door. "Do not be late. Do not come in a tux with any color accents. I will NOT be dancing with you at all after the float. Bring your own date. Chad gets jealous. Any questions?"

"No, I got it," Clark choked out.

"Good. Bye, Mrs. Kent, Clark!" Shannon waved and slipped out the open door.

"Homecoming?" Martha asked, her smile turning maternal. "You didn't say anything about your imminent coronation. When did you find out?"

"Days ago-I've been distracted," Clark said. "Are tuxes hard to come by? Shannon seems less than reasonable when it comes to my attire next weekend."

"Don't worry. We'll rent one together." Martha patted the now vacant spot next to her on the sofa. "Where have you been?"

Clark looked over his shoulder, wishing for a moment that the pushy freshman hadn't left so quickly. "I was out making some mistakes." Clark took the seat by his mother, and met her eyes head on. "But I learned a few things making them."

"Tell me," Martha said. "Start at the beginning."

* * *

Money could procure speed in many forms. It bought Lex the fastest cars. It took a smoldering pile of rubble from a skeleton of wood and rafters back to a half-constructed home in record time. Wearing a borrowed hardhat, Lex followed his foreman through the project, allowing the man to explain the details he felt pertinent.

"Bottom line," Lex interrupted. "How much longer?"

"It's only been a couple of weeks..."The foreman pushed his orange hardhat back on his head and squinted. "Progress is good. We're ahead of schedule. You'll be sleeping under your own roof again before the holidays."

"I will hold you to that." Lex shook the man's hand.

The ability to acquire speed could spoil a man, but Lex was still patient when necessary. Clark was present for two unexplained explosions of energy, one that burned a house and one that glowed so bright it was seen for hundreds of miles.

But Lex wasn't driving to the Kent farm with Clark's lead box, and he wasn't asking questions.

His gut seemed to think, Clark was going to come to him. His gut hadn't steered him wrong yet. After all, his friend kept finding his way to Lex's doorstep. It took time but Clark would trust him, maybe more than before. A little more patience and maybe he would get the answers he wanted.

His cell phone rang and Lex checked the incoming caller. With a smile, he flipped it open. "What do you have, Doctor? I'll be right there."

* * *

The yellow paint on the Kent's porch swing had begun to peel and the chains squeaked as it shifted back and forth. Clark ran his fingers over the imperfect paint and listened to the rhythmically whining chains, anything to fill the silence between him and his parents. While his mother had accepted his explanation of events with relative aplomb, his father hadn't yet said a word to him.

"It wasn't the smartest move. It was dangerous and it drew attention, and I know better." Clark looked his father in the eyes. "To be fair, we've all made some mistakes lately."

"I can't argue with that," Jonathan said, with uncharacteristic diplomacy. "This conversion you tried, from green kryptonite to blue, it's not just flashy, it's dangerous too, isn't it."

"Technically, it's a risk, not as much of one now that I've been through it once. Kryptonite is a menace that I brought with me to this planet. Finding a way to neutralize it is my responsibility. I think most of the mutated populace would thank me for the effort." Clark carefully divorced his desire to help Lola from his justifications. Jonathan Kent didn't need another reason to hate her. He technically hadn't told either of his parents that she wasn't dead, though he had shared his discovery of red kryptonite's effect on him without naming names.

"That flash of energy today was too bright to risk repeating it. We aren't paranoid. You don't understand how afraid humanity would be if they knew about you. You'd have a choice between running for the rest of your life or submitting to isolation and experimentation," Jonathan said.

Clark did understand though. He had witnessed human xenophobia in his own parents, and he didn't want to lose his life, not for anything. There were too many things worth staying for. "You're right, and I won't do it again until I've worked out a better containment plan."

"And you'll warn us before you try this or any other experiment," Martha added.

"Am I grounded?" Clark asked the question hopefully.

Martha smiled and shook her head. "With Homecoming this weekend? You aren't escaping that easily. Why don't you tell your father about your election?"

* * *

**Author's Note:**

There isn't much left in book 2. I'd post the rest now, but it's better to let it percolate a few more days so that I can decide for sure that this is where I'm leaving things. You won't get the end until I return from vacation/travel next week.


	62. Chapter 30 Homecoming

**- Chapter 30 - Homecoming -**

Walking, carefully placing one foot in front of the other, Kal-El tested his new body gently. He didn't push for speed or stretch his senses. .

He moved tentatively through the late afternoon heat like the newborn that he was. The wind blowing against his face felt alien. But the wind wasn't alien. The body of his rebirth, the filter through which the wind reached him, was the alien. He just needed to get used to its sensations. Worlds better that the numb Over Council prison, the new body couldn't yet be called home.

He curled and uncurled his fingers. "It doesn't feel like my skin."

"Anyone who touched you would disagree. You just feel skin differently now," the Eradicator explained. "You don't have to be so cautious. If you fall you won't break anything. I'm a competent craftsman."

"I want to run," Kal-El said. The wind couldn't remain alien if was whipping over his face and in his hair.

"Have fun then. I need to follow up with Reo and Luci and Ford. If she followed my instructions, Reo should be gestating by now."

Kal-El turned to the Eradicator without further response to her encouragements and explanations. Her silly breeding project did not interest him. He would be surprised if Clark had impregnated a random alien, but then, who knew what the brain damaged husk had gotten up to in his absence.

* * *

Tradition, fun, and a chance to dance, homecoming promised a lot, and Lana had technically enjoyed her first such dance as a freshman. She was the freshman princess, dancing the night away with the star of the football team. Clark missed out on the dance she promised him that night. He'd been strung up as the scarecrow. Though she had nothing directly to do with that incident, shame twinged in her. His freshman year had not been kind or easy even before his abduction. Maybe he would ask her for a dance tonight?

Her new dress wasn't nearly as fancy as the one from last year. She hadn't been elected to the float and wasn't required to wear a full length formal, frilly getup. Tonight she had selected a nice navy dress that hit above her knee.

Pete would hopefully appreciate her choice. Deciding whether to pull her hair up or leave it down, Lana found herself wondering if a certain freshman beau would appreciate her appearance as well. Ensconced in a relationship with Chloe, he wasn't likely to spend the night examining her like he used to, but Lana couldn't help speculating. She could always ask him to dance with the logic that she owed him one.

Lana cocked her head critically. Sweeping her hair back made her neck look longer and her earrings dangled prettily off her lobes. She began pinning her hair up, decision made. Whoever noticed her, she was going to have fun tonight, at least as much fun as she had in her crown, dancing with Whitney.

She turned up her squat white boom box, and the Smallville High fight song filling her room. The game announcer's voice rang out over the rumble of the crowd. Pete would be playing, or keeping the bench warm for at least another hour. Rather than watch the game and the halftime presentation with the homecoming court, Lana had elected to stay home and relocate to the dance after the competitive portion of the evening had ended.

* * *

"How did I ever win this silly election?" Clark asked. He allowed Chloe to straighten his tux's black tie. "I don't even talk to my classmates."

"Your abduction last year made you a minor celebrity at school. Not talking to everyone made you mysterious. And your alien genome made you pretty." Chloe sighed and arched an eyebrow. "Perfect storm to create a homecoming beau, trust me I've had this discussion with people who pay attention to these things."

"Pretty?" Clark asked. "You're the pretty one. I look strange in this costume." He pushed a strand of blond hair behind Chloe's ear and surveyed her. Her cream colored dress hugged her torso with a soft flair just past her hips. He liked how the dress moved with her. Her comfort in her clothes, in her skin, set him at ease. She knew him and could still stand by his side, touch him, and not fear the alien that bruised her a few short days earlier. "So, I stand on the field, escort the freshman princess, and escape after halftime."

"I'll be there, and we'll figure out the rest of the evening together."

"Thank you."

* * *

Lex stood in front of an obese balding scientist and waited for the man to begin briefing him. "I want to know what they are. Can you tell me that?" Clark's lead box from the explosion of energy had contained three blue stones, crystals. Lex couldn't believe they weren't in some way significant.

"Yes and no, Mr. Luthor. They're very similar to meteor rocks, but different. They radiate minutely like meteor rocks, but on a different spectrum. They're lower energy. And, it's the damndest thing, but their radiative patterns vary depending on the stimulus they experience."

"I followed most of that, but back up a bit. Why is a varied radiative pattern interesting?" Lex asked.

"Radioactive things radiate at the same rate no matter what you do to them. Heat them, bombard them with particles, they continue to radiate as their atoms determine they should. Short of atom smashing, we shouldn't see radiative variance."

"Simpler," Lex commanded, with a frustrated gesture.

"This is going to sound crazy, but I think they're trying to communicate with me."

"You're serious," Lex said after a moment. "Show me."

* * *

Luci leaned against the wall of Reo's workshop and stared up at the heavens. She still felt a tiny trill of agoraphobic terror sitting out in the open. She wished she could go back home, to the safe tunnels of the mining station, to the comforting custody of her parents where she wasn't responsible for the survival of herself and her brother.

It hadn't been so long, a few weeks since she left, but Luci hadn't thought of On-Lea seriously in a while. Her odd plans about reviving a dying race seemed silly when she thought about them now. Clark didn't want to be perpetuated. Reo didn't want to assist. Ford had never really signed on. They would be gone from Earth before On-Lea ever returned.

Then what? The galaxy was at war. Where were they supposed to go? Reo couldn't be trusted. Humans couldn't be trusted. How was she supposed to decide what to do?

With a burst of unexpected wind, Luci was no longer alone, and her assumptions went out the window. The tall, black-haired woman she knew only as On-Lea, surveyed her coolly, all earlier pretense at maternal coddling abandoned. "A workshop? Reo-Ra defied me," the woman said without preamble. She crossed her arms over her chest. "That was unwise. Take your brother and return to Martha and Jonathan. I must speak with your friend Reo in private. She may not be continuing in my project."

"Okay," Luci said. She scrambled to her feet. The hair on the back of her neck stood straight up and she backed toward the entrance that would lead to Ford. _She's going to kill Reo_, Luci thought with odd clarity. _We can't let her kill Reo_. "Reo tried really hard to do what you told her, but Clark was distracted by his blond human. She really tried."

On-Lea's unflinching, immobile stare continued to follow her, and Luci finally just ran to get her brother.

* * *

Eight teenagers, four girls in dramatic full-length dresses flanked by boys in formal tuxes, stood in a simple line on the fifty yard line of the Crow's football field. The grinning teens waved and posed, oblivious to the uncomfortably self-conscious alien escorting the freshman princess.

Martha stood next to Jonathan, surrounded on all sides by red-wearing Crows fans, friends and neighbors and students. With their secrets and their unique son, sometimes they felt an insurmountable distance between themselves and these normal people. Today things were different. Clark's classmates had voted him onto the football field, had made him part of their homecoming celebration. With everything they had gone through and were continuing to go through with him, their son was another one of the kids tonight. He had been recognized and honored and his parents were proud of him.

Martha waved, hoping to catch Clark's eye. "He looks so nervous."

Jonathan nodded. "He's okay. See his backup?" Jonathan pointed and Martha followed the interplay. Clark turned regularly to the blond awaiting him in the visitor's end zone.

"Young love," Martha said with a smile. "He's still going to be grounded for a month after tonight, I don't care how cute the two of them are."

"Let's hear it for the Smallville High homecoming court!" the game announcer called.

Martha and Jonathan clapped along with the rest of the crowd.

* * *

Kal-El ran, his legs pumping like pistons, effortlessly propelling him where he wanted. He visited home, combed his way through the fields of his youth. He visited Pete's brick two story house, Chloe's white clapboard home, even the Talon. He didn't enter the dwellings or even slow enough to risk being seen. He circled the landmarks of his friends and family, verifying that his mind remembered and they remained where they belonged. He stopped running outside Lana Lang's home. He stepped gingerly onto her porch, his mind crunching data in a foreign but increasingly comforting manner. Only one heart beating, one lung inspiring, one human, noisily metabolizing, would she look the same with his new eyes?

He focused them through the wooden walls and floor as though they were glass. Delicate and tan, her long legs greeted him first. He followed their smooth curves up past a form fitting navy dress. His eyes lingered on the curve of her neck and her jaw. Hungrily he drank her face, the features so much the same that he gasped in air, that his new body didn't require.

Not caring whether he was disrupting Clark's life, Kal rang the bell and waited.

Mesmerized by her graceful walk, he watched Lana move down the stairs and across the entryway. The door opened and a puzzled smile spread over her soft pink lips. "Clark, what are you doing here? You can't have been off the football field five minutes. Is something wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong." Kal didn't try to explain his arrival as he had no idea what she was referring to. "You look beautiful."

Lana pushed at her hair, suddenly self conscious. Hadn't she been contemplating catching Clark's eye and stealing him away from Chloe for a dance or two? Now, as though summoned by her plotting, he had arrived on her porch. "I was about to head to the dance. Pete will be waiting for me. He's my date."

"Pete." Kal-El said, not allowing his anger to show overtly. How dare Pete pursue HIS Lana? It was unconscionable. Best friends did not betray in this manner.

"Shouldn't you be with Chloe?" Lana asked, her smile dying as Clark withdrew from her a step. With the problems Clark had experienced after his abduction, she didn't like to see him confused. Maybe something was wrong with him? His clothes were even rather odd, black and synthetic and far more snug than Clark favored. "Should I call your parents?"

"No, I'm where I want to be." Kal stepped forward and very gently, as though he was afraid he might misjudge his strength and break her, he kissed Lana on the forehead. "You have fun tonight on your date. I'll be back when we're free."

* * *

Leaving the black tie and formal jacket behind in Chloe's car, Clark linked hands with his best friend and walked under the stars, far from the gymnasium and the formal dance they were expected at. He lifted her effortlessly past a patch of mud and deposited her on the dock that cut out over Crater Lake.

"Now that you've got me all the way out here, what are you going to do with me?" Chloe joked. She expected maybe a kiss, but Clark dropped her hand and put a step of distance between them.

"I want to tell you what happened up there," Clark said, "the part I haven't told anyone since returning. I want you to know it."

"You don't have to..." Chloe stopped at the vulnerable look Clark turned on her.

"Before we go any farther, I need you to know." Clark turned away and told his story staring up at the stars. "Out there my race was powerful, a ruling race. When we were destroyed it created a vacuum in the leadership. To prevent war, the galactic government came looking for a survivor of my race. They found me, Kal-El, the last of my kind.

"They copied me into a complicated machine. The copy of my mind is still up there, helping rule the galaxy. My mind from before is still alive and whole and forever separated from this body. Your friend is out there. Martha and Jonathan's son is out there. I'm just the body left behind."

Chloe felt her heart wrench at the thought of another Clark trapped a million miles away, ruling the galaxy. She grabbed the Clark in front of her by the arm and forced him to look at her. "You're not just his body. You're Clark too. It isn't fair, what happened to him, but it isn't your fault."

"Do you hate me for not telling you sooner?" A tear slipped down his face. "My parents are going to hate me when I tell them. They won't be able to look at me when they know."

Chloe was tempted to shake the alien pessimist in front of her. "Stop it. Just stop it. You're wrong. No one is going to hate you. How many times have the Kents told you they love you? It isn't your memories they love. It's your soul and that hasn't changed at all."

Her certainty eased his mind and the tight pain in his chest receded. Clark leaned down and kissed Chloe hungrily. They sank onto a padded dock bench, cuddling close in the chill evening air. Their kisses graduated into clumsy explorative caresses that only ended when Chloe bumped her head and Clark got his leg caught in the arm rest of the bench.

"There has to be somewhere more comfortable to continue this," Chloe giggled, rubbing the back of her head. Sitting side by side, Clark wrapped a warm arm around her and smiled sheepishly.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah." Chloe rested her head on her boyfriend's shoulder and sighed contentedly. "I wouldn't mind just sitting here a while."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

A short epilogue to go; I'll be posting it in a couple of days.

Peace!


	63. Epilogue The Dying of the Light

**Author's Note:**

I'm going to get hate mail for this chapter. And I'm okay with that. This is the end of book two. Book three will not be posted in any part until it's complete. In other words, don't expect it for a year. I'm not deluded into thinking that this fic is in any way revolutionary or amazing prose. Hopefully it was readable, competent grammatically, and fun. It was fun to write and share anyway.

With affection and relief,

Bridget

PS: The song that inspired the Trilogy is posted in lyric form at the end of this book.

PSS: I had no idea that was a cover. Now I need to go listen to the original!

**- Epilogue: The Dying of the Light -**

Clark draped his formal jacket onto a bale of hay and stepped out to the edge of his loft. Surviving homecoming had turned into an amazing night, a night of firsts. Chloe knew the whole truth, everything about who he was and what had been lost. He felt hopeful that he could protect the people he cared about and fit into the life he'd been given. He could be Clark his way and it could work out.

He felt the tug of Kryptonite sucking at his energy before he saw the other inhabitant of his loft. "Who's there?" Clark scanned the shadows, nervously. Certain meteor mutants drained him like the rocks that had mutated them. Had a mutant entered his hideout? "I don't want any trouble."

"Unfortunately, you've found trouble."

Clark frowned at the familiar voice. "Who?"

"Don't recognize my voice?" An over six foot Clark Kent replica stepped out of the shadows, a grim smile twisting his lips. "You fail at being Clark Kent. The things I've seen in one night horrified me. Lola's gone. There are aliens camped on the farm. Are you even aware that Lex has secured a supply of Kryptonium? Clark Kent loves Lana Lang, not Chloe, not like that.

"It was my mistake, sending you back here with brain damage and minimal memories. I'm sure you did your best."

Clark's heart thudded faster as one of his worst fears stood in front of him, brought to life. The real-Clark had come to reclaim his life from the imposter. But that was impossible, wasn't it? This was his life now. He remembered Chloe's words of encouragement and the muscles in his jaw tightened. "Kal-El? I didn't know you could project your image here. Azar is so far away. What do you want? I'm not you or the Clark that existed before Ascension. Things change. Nothing is wrong here." Nausea choked him and he broke out in a cold sweat as Kal-El moved closer, Krytponite sickness rapidly weakening him.

"No you aren't the Clark this world needs, but I know how to fix things."

The attack didn't take long.

A crude Kryptonite knife slid into Clark's abdomen with minimal resistance. Kal-El jerked the knife up through the diaphragm and into the chest. He pulled back and stabbed again and again, intent on doing enough damage that his doppelganger would die, and be punished for his dismal failure by the pain of that death.

Kal-El stepped back, leaving the knife behind. Blood soaked into the floor, it covered Kal's hands and clothes, it pooled around the shallowly breathing soon to be corpse in front of him. With a glance, over his shoulder Kal smiled to his Eradicator. "Clean the mess, please."

"Yes, Kal-El, as you command."

Emotionless, the Eradicator began the cleaning with fire from her eyes. The hay welcomed her heat vision with vigorous flames that burned orange and red, hungry flames. She sat next to Clark as the fire burned closer, heat and smoke had no affect on her, but would speed the death of the fatally wounded boy she had been ordered to dispose of. She stroked Clark's forehead and waited quietly for the fire to reach them.

He coughed wetly, blood flecking her front, but the Eradicator's expression never faltered. "It won't be long now," she whispered.

* * *

**"Iron Man"**

Has he lost his mind?  
Can he see or is he blind?  
Can he walk at all,  
Or if he moves will he fall?  
Is he alive or dead?  
Has he thoughts within his head?  
We'll just pass him there  
why should we even care?

He was turned to steel  
in the great magnetic field  
When he travelled time  
for the future of mankind

Now the time is here  
for Iron Man to spread fear  
Vengeance from the grave  
Kills the people he once saved

Nobody wants him  
He just stares at the world  
Planning his vengeance  
that he will soon unfurl

Nobody wants him  
They just turn their heads  
Nobody helps him  
Now he has his revenge

Heavy boots of lead  
fills his victims full of dread  
Running as fast as they can  
Iron Man lives again

**-The Cardigans**


End file.
